IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STRE^i  ' 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


W.r 


Ua 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  mdthode  normale  de  filmage 
soni  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 


D 


Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


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mmagee 


□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

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Pages  endommag^es 


□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur6e  et/ou  pellicul^e 


□    Cover  title  missing/ 
Le  tit 


re  de  couverture  manque 


I       I    Coloured  maps/ 


Cartes  g^ographiques  en  couleur 


□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurdes  et/ou  pelliculdes 


V 


□ 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet^es  ou  piqu^es 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  d^tach^es 


□    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


y 


Showthrough/ 
Transparence 


□    Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Plan( 


D 
D 


n 


n 


iches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
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D 
D 


n 


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Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqu^  ci-dessous. 

WW  14X  18X  22X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  in^gale  de  I'impression 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


I      I    Only  edition  available/ 


Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
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ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  dt6  film^es  d  nouveau  de  facon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


26X 


30X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


tails 

du 
odifier 

une 
mage 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

La  Bibliothdque  de  la  Ville  de  Montreal 


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first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut 
gdn6rosit6  de: 


eproduit  grSce  d  la 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


La  Bibliothdque  de  la  Ville  de  Montreal 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimie  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmds  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas;  le  symbole  —^^  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "Fir^s". 


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different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
film^s  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


rrata 
o 


lelure, 
1  d 


3 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

THE 


YOUNG  CONVERTS ; 


OK 


3IEM0IRS  OF  THE  THREE  SISTERS, 


DEBBIE,    HELEN   AND    A?fNA   BAKLOW. 


COJiriLKD   BY 


Mrs.  Julia  C.  Smalley. 

EDITED   BT 

Very  Rev.  Z.   Druon,  of  St.  Albans,  Vt. 


CLAREMONT,  N.  H.: 

PRINTED   By   ?Hii  CLA*REM<'^;V    JjAVuF/^fTURINa   CO. 

1  M  t)  8  .       *•',',' 


•      »"   •     • 


»        »         •         • 


» 


709552 


\ 


*        ^  I 


■/ 


*    i  •  .  •    » 


It  is  now  nearly  six  years  since  I  compiletl,  and 
offered  to  the  young  Catholics  of  the  Diocese  of  Bur- 
lington, these  Memoirs  of  the  three  sisters.  I  thought 
they  would  possess  an  interest  for  the  people  of 
Northern  Vermont,  to  whom  the  name  of  Barlow 
is  familiar,  and  identified  with  much  of  the  early  his- 
tory of  their  locality.  I  supposed  that  this  interest 
would  be  chiefly  a  local  one  :  certainly  nothing  was 
farther  from  my  thoughts,  than  the  supposition  that 
another  edition  of  the  little  book  would  be  called  for. 
I  was,  therefore,  surprised  to  hear  of  the  wide  circu- 
lation it  soon  attained,  not  only  in  the  Western 
wilds  of  our  own  country — as  well  as  in  the  older 
portions — but  also  abroad,  and  that  the  whole  edition 
was  exhausted,  while  there  was  still  a  demand  for  it. 

These  circumstances,  together  with  the  discovery 
of  additional  matter,  which  it  is  thought  may  in- 
crease the  interest  of  the  Memoirs,  have  induced  me 
to  yield  to  urgent  and  friendly  solicitations,  and  pre- 
pare the  second  edition  now  offered  to  the  j)ublic. 


■■>*> 


4  PREFAfE   TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION. 

To  convince  such  rcatlers  as  have  doubted  tlie  real 
existence  of  our  lamented  young  friends,  and  pro- 
nounced the  whole  narrative  a  fiction — even  while 
reading  it,  as  they  confess,  with  lively  emotion — the 
original  manuscript  letters  can  be  produced.  These 
are  given  precisely  as  they  were  written,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  slight  verbal  corrections  or  omissions,  few- 
er in  number  than  would  seem  possible  in  a  series  of 
familiar  letters  written  by  young  persons,  and,  of 
course,  without  a  thought  of  their  future  publication. 

It  is  not  surprising  to  us,  who  knew  these  lovely 
sisters  well,  that  their  memorial,  imperfectly  as  it  is 
traced  herein,  should  appear  to  strangers  like  a  fancy 
sketch  ;  for,  even  now,  when  we  recall  their  images, 
and  dwell  with  fond  delight  upon  all  the  circum- 
stances of  their  brief  sojourn  among  us — many  of  the 
most  interesting  of  which  it  is  impossible  to  embody 
in  a  work  like  this — they  seem  more  like  beautiful 
creations  of  a  poet's  fancy,  than  creatures  of  smiles 
and  tears,  subject  to  joys  and  sorrows,  to  suffering 
and  to  death,  in  common  with  frail  humanity,  To 
the  best  of  my  ability  I  have  given  their  simple  rec- 
ord, and  whether  it  shall  be  accepted  as  truth  or  not, 

"  It  shall  be  my  pride, 
"Tliat  T  havo  dared  to  tread  this  lioly  ground, 
"Speaking  no  dream,  but  things  oracular.'' 


COMriLER. 


Swanton,  January,  18GG. 


ie  real 

d  pro- 
.  vvliilo 
1 — tho 
These 
he  ex- 
s,  fcw- 
■ies  of 
icl,  of 
;ation. 
lovely 
s  it  is 
fancy 
tiages, 
reum- 
of  the 
iibody 
mtiful 
smiles 


'r> 


•V 


♦  *  ♦  »  ■♦- 


TO  TUE  YOUNG  (\VTIIOLI(\S  OP  THE   DIOCESE  OF 
BURLINGTON,  Vt.; 

My  Dear  Young  Frikn-ds; 

Soon  after  the  death  of  Debbie  Barlow  in  April,  I 
received  a  letter  from  our  venerated  Bisliop,  request- 
ing mc  to  prepare  and  present  to  your  perusal  a  little 
sketcli  of  the  edifying  lives  of  the  three  sisters,  of 
whom  slie  was  the  oldest.  I  could  not  hesitate  to 
comply,  though  I  distrusted  my  own  ability  to  per- 
form what  was  re(|uircd  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 
Feeling  at  once  the  need  of  more  material  than  I 
could  have  access  to  here,  I  went  to  the  Convent  in 
Montreal,  where  I  found  it  in  greater  abundance  than 
I  could  have  expected.  The  recollections  of  my  so- 
journ at  the  delightful  boarding-school  retreat  of  the 
Congregation  de  Notre  Dame  at  Villa  Maria,  (form- 
erly Monklands,)  on  Montreal  Monntain— of  the  po- 
lite hospitality  with  which  I  was  entertained — of  my 
enjoyment  in  the  society  of  the  pious  and  intelligent 
sisters,  and  participation  in  the  religious  privilegctj 


PREFACE    TO    THE    FIRST    EDITION. 


t 


of  that  favored  abode,  will  be  gratefully  ehcrislie<l 
while  I  live.  ]>y  the  aid  of  the  copious  subject-mat- 
ter there  obtained — her  letters  written  to  her  parents 
at  various  intervals,  when  she  was  absent  Jroni  home, 
and  those  with  which  1  have  been  furnished  from  oth- 
er sources — my  task  has  been  a  li^dit  one  in  compar- 
ison with  what  I  expected  :  the  '..ampliation  and 
arrangement  of  them  having  formed  the  chief  part 
of  the  labor.  I  hope  they  may  prove  as  interesting 
and  edifying  to  you  in  the  perusal  as  they  have  been 
to  me  in  the  preparation  ;  and  humbly  recommend- 
ing myself  to  your  prayers,  I  remain  your  devoted 

friend, 

THK  COMPILER. 

Burlington,  June  11,  18G0. 


Iicrislicfl 
t'ct-nint- 
parontH 
n  liojjio, 
rom  otli- 
compar- 
ion  and 
icf  part 
erestinir 
A'c  been 
nimend- 
dcvotcd 

[LER. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Some  lime  in  the  early  part  of  February,  1853,  a  lady  was 
passing  the  day  with  licr  young  and  invalid  daughter,  in  the 
village  of  St.  Albans,  Vermont ;  and  awaiting,  in  the  parlor 
of  a  hotel,  the  arrival  of  some  friends — whom  they  were  ex- 
pecting— in  the  cars  from  the  South.  Soon  after  they  entered 
the  parlor,  two  young  gir!.s,  apparently  but  slightly  separated 
as  to  age,  (the  younger  one  being  a  little  the  taller  of  the  two,) 
entered  also,  having  evidently  but  just  arrived  after  a  drive 
of  considerable  length  in  the  cold  morning  air.  Their  interest- 
ing appearance  and  engaging  manners  attracted  the  attention 
of  tlie  mother  and  daughter,  and  led  them  into  conjecturees  as 
to  who  they  could  be,  which  were  soon  solved  by  the  entrance 
of  their  well-known  father,  who  immediately  introduced  the 
beautiful  young  fitrangers  as  his  oldest  daughter5'^  Debbie  and 
Helen  Barlow,  then  of  Fairfield,  a  Tillage  about  eight  miles  to 
the  East  of  St.  Albans.  He  was  on  his  way  with  them  to 
Montreal,  where  he  designed  to  place  them  in  the  boarding- 
scliool  of  the  ladies  of  the  (.'ongregation  of  Notre  Dame,  for 
their  education. 

As  the  young  invalid  to  wliom  I  have  alluded  had  been  a 
pupil  in  a  convent,  they  were  much  interested  to  learn  from 
her  all  they  could  of  the  general  rules  and  routine,  both  as  to 
studies  and  recreation  in  such  institutions,  and  the  elder  one 
especially,  addressc-d  inquiries  to  her  in  relation  to  those  mat- 
tors,  that  evinced  a  degree  of  intelligence,  forethought  and 
prudence,  very  remarkable  in  one  so  young.  Her  replies  were 
far  from  encouraging,  for  she  knew  by  experience  that  the  firm, 
though  perfectly  rnild  restraints  which  constantly  encompass 
the  convent  pupil  under  all  circumstances,  are  extremely  irk- 
some at  first,  even  to  Tatholics  who  are  subjected  to  them  af- 
ter having  been  accustomed  to  the  freedom  from  discipline  in 
which  our  young  people  are  generally  indulged  at  home,  and 
in  our  scliools.  whether  to  their  advantage  or  disadvantage, 


^' 


8 


INTRUDUOTIUN. 


the  consequences  tliercof  must  testify.  Slio  closod  licr  re- 
marks, however,  by  assuring  them  that,  tlmugh  they  vvouUl 
shrink  from  the  system  in  tlio  boginninfr,  and  probably  bocpiito 
homesick  for  the  first  few  weeks,  yet  tlicy  would  r)rni  so  strong 
an  attachment  to  it,  if  they  remained  long  enough  to  beconio 
habituated  to  its  silent  influence,  us  to  frel  more  i)airirully  still, 
upon  their  return  homo,  their  release  from  the  gentle  and  sal  • 
utary  onthrahnont,  than  they  did  the  first  exorcise  of  its  re- 
straining, directing  and  controlling  pc  wer.  Thoy  have  often 
asaured  me  since,  that  these  remarks  were  useful  in  preparing 
them  for  a  Ufe  so  now,  and  proved  true  in  every  respect ;  only 
that  they  were  less  annoyed  by  their  subjection  to  its  discipline, 
and  recognized  more  immediately  its  wholesome  ell'eei  iliaii 
thoy  had  expected. 

The  lady,  who  met  the  sisters  at  the  hotel  when  they  were 
departing  for  Montreal,  did  not  see  them  again  until  tho  win- 
ter after  their  return.  She  had  heard,  however,  a  rumor  to 
which  she  gave  little  heed,  that  thty  had  been  removed  from 
tho  convent  in  consequence  of  an  apprehension  on  the  part  of 
their  parenta,  that  tho  Catholic  relip:ion  was  making'  such  fav- 
orable impressions  on  their  yoiiug  minds  and  heiirts,  as  to  en- 
danger their  Trotestantism.  During  tho  winter  succeeding 
their  removal,  and  the  death  of  her  daughter,  she  passed  som« 
time  at  St.  Albans,  where  she  received  occasional  visits  from 
Pebbio  Barlow,  who  was  in  tho  habit  of  making  excursions 
from  Fairfield  to  St.  Albans  frequently.  In  the  course  of  these 
visits  she  discovered  that  the  reports  touching  tho  interest 
cherished  by  her  lovely  youn^  friend,  in  the  Catholic  religion 
were  true.  Knowing  tho  bitter  '  'als  that  must  boset  the  path 
of  the  young  pilgrim  in  that  direction,  better  than  she  did  tho 
strength  of  a  character  fortified  with  every  quality  necessary 
to  secure  tho  victory  in  such  a  conflict,  she  maintained  a  prayer- 
ful reserve  on  the  subject,  under  the  full  assurance,  that  if 
the  work  was  from  God  it  would  be  perfected  in  Ilis  own  good 
time  and  way.  This  reserve,  while  It  really  grieved  tho  sensi- 
tive and  aflectionate  nature  of  tho  beloved  child,  drew  from 
hor  sallies  of  playful  wit  upon  some  occasions,  and  serious  re- 
monstrances upon  others,  that  revealed  not  only  the  brilliancy 
of  her  genius,  but  tho  depth  and  earnestness  of  her  reasoning 
and  convictions. 


INTRODUCTION. 


9 


Tlie  character  <>f  Debbio  Barlow  was  indeod  one  of  rare 
strength  and  cxcolloncc.  Endowed  with  an  intuitive  sense  of 
the  good  and  the  beautiful,  she  was  quick  to  appreciate,  as  she 
was  eager  to  seek  thoin  in  every  mi'iject  which  was  prenonted 
to  hor  notice,  (however  much  popular  prejudice  might  have 
sought  to  distort  it,)  and  equally  able  to  discern  their  oppo. 
sitcH,  luvler  whatever  dirtguisna  they  might  appear.  Her  very 
childhood  surprised  us  with  the  calm  deciaions  and  thoughtAil 
csliiimtes  of  an  intellect  so  thoroughly  well  balanced  as  to  be 
free  fioin  apathy  on  the  one  hand,  and  enthusiasm  on  the  oth- 
er ;  an  exemption  rarely  enjoyed  by  women,  even  at  matu* 
rity.  It  was  her  freedom  from  any  tendency  to  these  extremos 
which  secured  her  from  being  jostled  by  tu")  sharp  oolliaions 
that  she  constantly  encountered  with  worldly  ma  :  :\a  and  pet- 
ty vanities,  and  enabled  hor  to  exercise  such  a  nowerfUi  influ- 
ence over  the  minds  of  hor  younger  sistorp,  vs  to  /entitle  '.tT 
to  the  preeminence  accorded  her  in  these  mumoirs. 

]•   ^''  •  mode  which  I  have  chosen  for  the  intrcd' "^tiOn  of  my 
subject,  I  am  well  aware  that  1  have  departed  iro  n  the  course 
usual  to  biogrrpliy.     It  may  be  thought  that  I  hav«»  presented 
it  too  abruptly,  with  too  little  formality.     It  wat,  perhaps,  to 
bo  expected  that  I  .should  enter  with  my  young  friend  into  the 
homo  of  her  childhood,  and  represent  to  my  readers  the  bril- 
liant prospects  which  opened  before  her,  as  she  stood  in  all  the 
freshness  of  youth  and  beauty,  and  in  the  plenitude  of  her  tal- 
ents and  accomplishments,  upon   the  threshold  of  life— the 
pride  of  her  fond  and  indulgent  parents — surroanded  by  the 
advantages  of  wealth  and  intimate  connection  with  many  dis- 
tinguished families  of  Vermont  and  New  York,  and  beset  with 
allurements  which  would  have  enticed  a  heart  less  pure,  and 
aspirations  less  simple,  tc  a  lasting  union  with  the  vanities  of 
time  and  sense.     It  is  indeed  proper  that  I  should  here  allude 
to  these  circumstances,  in  order  to  give  due  credit  to  the  dis- 
crimination and  firmness  with  which  she  weighed  them  all  in 
the  balance  against  Kternity;  and,  having  so  proved  their  emp- 
tiness, launched  hor  frail  bark   courageously  upon  a  stormy 
flood,  to  encounter  buffetings  fron,  the  wild  billows  of  opposi- 
tion and  contempt,  and  to  struggle  against  their  power,  until 
the  peaceful  haven,  towards  which  all  her  desires  and  efforts 
were  d  irected,  should  be  securely  attained.    "With  the  history 


Ill  ; 


t ) 
i  I 


10 


INTRODUCTION. 


of  these  struggles,  from  the  moment  when  the  first  gentle  influ- 
ences of  Divine  grace  settled  down  into  her  fervent  soul,  and 
the  first  feint  rays  of  Truth  dawned  upon  her  clear  intellect, 
until  their  glorious  and  triumphant  close,  the  heart  of  every 
Catholic,  whether  old  or  young,  must  be  deeply  interested. 

The  design  of  elucidating  these,  for  the  edification  and  in- 
struction of  my  dear  young  Catholic  friends,  animates  my 
heart,  and  inspires  me  with  courage  lovingly  to  undertake  this 
labor,  even  while  shrinking  from  it,  depressed  with  the  con- 
sciousness of  my  own  incompetence  to  do  justice  to  my  exalted 
sense  of  the  beauty  and  merit  of  my  subject.  Indeed  I  should 
hardly  have  dared  the  attempt,  had  it  not  happened  that  the 
lady  who  was  her  dearest  friend  and  teacher  at  the  convent, 
and  with  whom  she  corresponded  at  irregular  intervals  from 
the  time  she  left  the  boarding-school,  had,  contrary  to  the  usual 
practice  of  the  religious  orders,  carefully  presen-ed  most  of  her 
letters  and  fragments  of  her  writings  while  at  school,  which 
fell  in  her  way,  convinced  that  they  were  the  productions  of  a 
remarkable  mind  and  heart.  These  she  very  kindly  offered 
to  my  inspection,  that  I  might  extract  from  their  contents 
whatever  I  found  that  could  aid  me  in  the  fulfilment  of  my 
undertaking,  in  the  object  of  which  she— in  common  with  tho 
whole  dev.oted  community  to  which  she  belongs — entertains 
the  deepest  interest.  She  also  promised  to  furnish  me  with 
any  information  in  her  power,  which  might  serve  to  supply 
missing  links  in  the  chain  of  our  little  history. 

By  avaiUng  myself  of  her  offer,  and  important  assistance, 
also,  (during  a  recent  visit  to  Montreal,)  in  selecting,  arranging 
and  copying  these  copious  extracts,  I  hope  to  enable  our  lam- 
ented young  friend — though  her  fair  form  reposes  in  the  Halls 
of  Silence,  and  we  shall  listen  no  more  on  earth  to  the  tones 
of  a  voice  whose  utterances  were  as  music  to  our  ears — to  dis- 
course with  us  yet,  eloquently  and  impressively,  through  the 
sentiments  and  the  events  which  her  own  pen  recorded,  in  her 
artless  and  admirable  manner,  thus : 


IS 

f 


•'  Depositing  upon  the  ailant  shore 
Of  memory,  images  and  precious  thoughts 
That  shall  not  die,  and  cauuot  be  destroyed. 


■i!t. 


M   W^^S   fonberts. 


CHAPTEE  I. 


On  the  ninth  day  of  February,  1853,  Debhie  Bar- 
low first  entered  the  Convent  of  the  Congregation  of 
Notre  Dame,  as  a  pupil  in  that  excellent  institution. 
She  was  then  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  her  sister  Hel- 
en, who  accompanied  her,  was  about  thirteen.  As 
the  history  of  the  first  impressions  upon  her  mind, 
as  well  as  their  subsequent  development,  will  interest 
and  edify  my  young  readers,  I  must  claim  their  at- 
tention and  indulgence,  if  I  enter  more  minutely  into 
its  details  than  would,  at  the  first  glance,  seem  neces- 
sary. When  they  passed  through  the  largo  gate 
which  opens  from  Notre  Dame  Street  into  the  en- 
closure of  the  Institution,  "  the  Convent  walls,"  to 
use  her  own  expression,  "  looked  so  gray,  so  dark,  so 
dismal !"  that  the  sight  of  them  made  her  heart  sink 
with  dread,  and  she  entered  beneath  their  shadow 
with  such  shrinking  reluctance  that,  according  to  her 
own  account  of  it,  nothing  could  have  sustained  her 
under  the  parting  with  her  father,  but  the  conviction 
that  it  was  her  duty  to  make  this  sacrifice  of  her  feel- 
ings to  please  him,  after  he  had  so  kindly  exerted 
himself  to  secure  its  valuable  advantages  for  her  edu- 
cation. When  she  had  been  there  two  days,  she 
wrote  the  following  letter  to  her  mother  : 

Mv  Deau  Mother — Here  I  am  seated  in  a  convent, 
(will  you  iau^rh  at  the  idc.i?)  ^^ rising  to  you.  De- 
spite my  averrtioi:.to  t'lo  /Icunair  C.ht'iolic   religion, 


1  < 


- »  .. » 


r 


12 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


il 


and  the  various  prayers  we  are  obliged  to  attend  up- 
on, I  am  very  contented.  To  be  sure  I  feel  the  same 
as  regards  the  doctrines  of  this  Church  as  I  always 
have,  and  my  dislike  to  worship  as  they  do  is  the 
same  as  when  I  was  at  home  ;  but  outward  forms  will 
not  change  the  heart ;  it  is  mockery  for  me  to  bow  to 
the  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary ;  and  even  if  I  did 
that,  it  would  be  only  because  I  was  compelled  to 
do  so,  and  if  the  nuns  know  it  they  will  certainly 
not  oblige  me  to  do  it.  I  cannot  turn  my  eyes  in 
any  direction  without  beholding  some  statue  or 
painting.  The  prayers  are  mostly  in  French,  and  I 
do  not  understand  them  at  all.  The  hymns  are  sung 
to  the  Mother  of  God,  and  indeed  it  seems  to  mc  that 
they  put  their  whole  trust  in  her,  but  I  suppose  they 
do  not.  However,  my  belief  is,  that  we  are  com- 
manded to  worship  one  God  only.  But  no  more  of 
this.  The  nuns  are  very  kind,  and  no  one  can  help 
loving  them.  The  wishes  of  their  pupils  are  all 
granted,  as  far,  at  least,  as  would  be  best  for  their  in- 
terests      I  will  close  here,  for  I  cannot  write 

all  the  [particulars  concerning  the  school :  I  will  in 
my  next.  No  one  sees  our  letters  except  one  of  the 
nuns.     Helen  is  perfectly  contented,  and  sends  love, 

dJC*         t  •  •  • 

A  fortnight  later,  she  wrote  to  her  mother  under 
date  of  March  1st : 

"  . . . .  I  presume  you  have  heard  from  father  all 
about  our  journey  from  home  here  ;  so,  I  will  leave 
that  and  continue.  We  entered  the  convent  on  Wed- 
nesday— were  received  very  kindly  by  the  nuns  whom 
you  have  no  idea  of  at  all :  they  are  very  pleasant, 
and  seem  to  be  very  happy.  There  are  many  that  I 
should  think  are  quite  young  and  accomplished;  and, 
we  should  think,  if  we  had  them  in  the  world,  great 
additions  to  society.  They  are  devoted  to  their  re- 
ligion, beyond  my  power  to  express.  They  introduced 
us  to  some  of  the  young  ladies,  who  seemed  very  ami- 
able, and  who  did  their  best  to  show  us  the  various 
rooms,  and  infornrj  us  of  th»i  rules-  and  requirements 
of  the  school :  at  evening  th-^  whole  school  assembled 


S 


■C-U 


kt 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


13 


in  the  recreation  room,  which  is  largo,  and  divided 
into  two  parts,  one  for  the  vsmaller  chiMren,  and  the 
other  for  the  ohler  girls.  You  may  imagine  the  noise 
we  made,  for  there  were  no  less  than  one  hundred  and 
forty  of  us.  There  was  a  nun  in  each  room  to  over- 
see the  plays,  and  who  seemed  to  enjoy  it  as  well  as 
we  did  ourselves.  We  did  almost  any  thing  we  wish- 
ed. Some  were  seated  in  groups,  talking  on  all  sub- 
jects; others  were  promenading  up  and  down  the 
rooms — some  were  standing  around  the  nun's  chair 
(which  was  raised  some  height  from  the  floor,)  talking 
with  her,  and  others  were  singing  and  dancing,  jump- 
ing the  rope,  etc.  Soon  the  folding  doors  opened, 
and  the  younger  children  came  marching  through, 
headed  by  one  they  had  chosen  for  their  leader,  and 
who  seemed  to  be  the  head  one  in  all  their  plays. — • 
They  were  singing  a  Hiarch,  and  you  may  be  sure 
they  looked  very  pretty.  At  the  command  of  their 
leader,  (who  was  a  noble  looking  child,)  they  march- 
ed round  the  rooms  several  times,  and  then  returned 
— there  were  at  least  fifty  of  them.  We  spent  the 
evening  very  pleasantly,  and  at  eight  o'clock  the  bell 
rung  for  us  to  go  to  prayers.  We  went  to  the  chap- 
el, which  is  very  pretty  indeed  ;  it  is  adjoining  the 
dining-room,  and  I  should  think  it  was  purposely  for 
evening  or  private  devotions;*  the  altar  is  small,  but 
beautiful ;  it  is  gilded  and  decorated  with  statues, 
crucifix  and  silver  candlesticks,  with  wax  tapers,  etc., 
etc.  •  The  walls  are  also  hung  with  very  beautiful 
paintings  of  our  Lord,  the  Virgin  Mary  and  various 
Saints.  After  prayers,  and  an  evening  hymn  to  the 
Virgin,  we  retired  for  the  night.      Helen  and  myself 

have  a  room  together,  with  separate  beds 

"  At  six  in  the  morning  we  rise  and  proceed  to  the 
chapel  to  hear  Mass.  It  Is  under  the  same  roof  with 
the  convent,  but  not  the  one  we  go  to  for  evening 
prayers;  it  is  much  larger,  and  has  three  altars.  The 
paintings  there  are  some  of  them  very  large  and 
beautiful,  and  they  have  also  a  very  fine  orgau,  which 


*  It  is  the  young  ladies'  chapel. — Comp. 


T 


^ 


■  .III 


14 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


is  playoJ  by  one  of  the  nuns.  After  Mass  we  go  to 
breakfast,  and  then  to  study  until  eleven ;  then  cate- 
chism until  twelve — dinner  and  recreation  until  one, 
and  study  nntil  three ;  recreation  from  three  to  four, 
then  study,  and  a  lecture  until  six;  then  tea  and  rec- 
reation until  eight.  We  enjoy  ourselves  now  as  we 
did  when  we  first  came  ;  indeed,  every  day  I  enjoy 
myself  more  and  more 

"  I  will  now  tell  you  what  studies  I  am  pursuing. 
Monday  I  havu  French  and  Arithmetic ;  Tuesday, 
Rhetoric,  Philosophy  and  Dictionary;  Wednesday, 
French  and  Arithmetic.  Thursday  we  do  not  study, 
but  mend  our  clothes  and  embroider.  I  am  going  to 
commence  embroidering  a  piano-stool  Thursday,  and 
Helen  a  piece  to  frame.  Friday  I  recite  in  History, 
Geography,  Botany  and  Parsing.  Saturday  is  for 
writing  compositions.  Every  month  the  literary  so- 
cieties meet :  they  are  the  young  ladies  that  write 
compositions  on  a  given  subject,  and  read  them  before 
priests,  the  nuns,  and  any  persons  they  may  see  fit  to 
invite  to  come  in.  Sister  G has  given  me  an  in- 
vitation to  write  an  address  to  St.  Joseph's  Society 
asking  admission  to  it.  You  may  know  that  I  rather 
dislike  to  do  it ;  but  I  shall,  for  it  must  be  of  much 
benefit  to  the  young  ladies  to  be  members  of  the  Soci- 
ety. Every  month  the  good  and  bad  marks  are  read, 
and  those  that  behave  themselves  well  enough  are  put 
on  the  table  of  honor  at  the  end  of  the  year  ;  that  is, 
they  have  their  name  put  into  a  gilt  frame  and  hung 
up  in  the  parlor ;  but  I  rather  think  it  would  be  vain 
for  me  to  aspire  to  that  honor,  though  perseverance 

may  do  it Give  my  love  to  father.     After  he 

gets  home  from  Washington  you  mu«t  write  me  about 
the  inauguration."    

Through  some  fault  in  the  distributing  offices,  their 
letters  were  delayed  in  reaching  home,  and  their 
mother  wrote  by  a  gentleman  of  Montreal,  in  great 
anxiety  to  know  vvliy  she  did  not  hear  from  them. 
Debbie  replied  under  date  of  March  11  :  "I  have 
no  doubt  that  my  letters  left  the  convent,  and  that  all 
that  have  come  to  the  convent  for  me  I  have  had.     1 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


15 


we  go  to 
!ien  eate- 
mtil  one, 
i  to  four, 

and  rec- 
)vv  as  we 

I  enjoy 

)ursuing. 
Fuesday, 
dnesday, 
at  study, 
going  to 
day,  and 
History, 
y  is  for 
3rary  so- 
lat  write 
m  before 
see  fit  to 
ne  an  in- 

Society 
I  rather 
)f  much 
he  Soci- 
re  read, 

are  put 

that  is, 
id  hung 

be  vain 
verance 
^fter  he 
le  about 

3s,  their 
i  their 
1  great 
I  them. 
I  have 
tliat  all 
lad.     1 


think  the  trouble  is  somewhere  else,  for  I  have  not 
the  slightest  idea  tliat  my  letters  have  met  with  any 
impediment  in  the  convent.  The  young  ladies  tell 
me  that  they  never  have  had  any  trouble  with  theirs, 
and  more  than  that,  I  have  too  high  an  opinion  of 
the  nuns  to  think  they  would  stop  a  letter  going 
home,  and  much  less  tell  me  that  the  letters  went, 
when  they  did  not.  I  am  very  contented,  and  you 
need  not  give  yourself  any  uneasiness  about  us.  T^he 
nuns  are  very  kind,  and  are  altogether  different  from 
what  I  thought  they  were  :  they  seem  very  happy, 
and  enjoy  themselves  quite  as  well  as  any  one  in  the 
world  could,  and  better,  perhaps.  Helen  says  that 
she  is  perfectly  contented,  and  that  you  need  not  be 
in  the  least  uneasy  about  her.  I  am  getting  along 
very  well  in  my  studies,  and  am  very  well  pleased 
with  my  music  teacher." 

On  the  twenty-fifth  of  the  same  month,  she  writes : 
"  I  was  happy  to  hear  that  you  had  received  my  let- 
ters, which  were  probably  detained  in  some  office,  for 
you  might  find  in  them  much  more  then  I  could  re- 
member to  tell  again.  I  am  still  happy  in  my  home; 
there  is  nothing  to  prevent  our  being  happy,  for  it  is 
the  pleasure  of  our  dear  "  Tantes"*  to  see  us  enjoy 
ourselves ;  yes,  they  seek  our  happiness  as  much  as 
they  do  our  improvement.  I  wish  you  could  see  the 
nuns ;  you  would  be  an  ardent  admirer  of  them  if 
you  only  knew  what  lives  they  lead.  /  7vill  my  plain- 
lify  that  we  see  but  feiv  with  us  that  would  give  up  all 
for  the  love  of  God,  and  live  the  life  of  a  nun.  The 
world  occupies  too  much  of  their  attention  and  love 
to  forsake  it ;  but  what  does  a  nun  do  ?  To  be  sure, 
she  loves  her  home  and  friends,  but  she  sacrifices  all 
for  (iod  ;  they  will  meet  their  reward  in  Heaven. 
You  have  no  idea  of  them  !  Their  devotion  to  their 
religion,  the  gentle  spirit  they  evince  in  every  action, 
their  love  of  [)rayer,  and  their  perfect  charity ,  are  not 
to  be  witnessed  in  c very-day  life,  I  assure  you.     Do 

*  French  for""  Aunts,"  hj  which  appellation  the    pupils  of 
that  Institution  address  the  nuns. — Conipiltr. 


^ 


16 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


ii 


1:1 


not  think  I  mn  j?oing  Into  ecstacies  about  tlic  nnns, 
and  sliaHfollow  in  their  footsteps  at  some  fntiiie  day, 
No;  I  am  not  so  sober  yet  as  that.  I  do  not  think  I 
could  do  as  they  do.  I  only  think  they  are  Chridimis 
in  every  sense  of  the  word^  and  any  one  who  knows 
them  must  form  the  same  opinion  in  a  very  short 
time.  You  will  excuse  me  for  taking  so  much  of  my 
letter  for  my  "  Tantes  ;"  I  only  want  you  to  see  them, 
ancf  I  will  assure  you  that  your  mind  will  change.  I 
am  getting  along  in  Music  very  well,  and  I  think  I 
have  an  excellent  teacher.  My  teacher  in  drawing 
would  not  allow  me  to  proceed  in  monochromatic,  un- 
til I  had  taken  lessons  in  penciling;  so  I  commenced, 
and  she  says  I  get  along  remarkably  well,  and  shall 
do  a  large  piece  in  monochromatic  to  take  home  in 
July.  French  I  am  not  very  fond  of;  but  they  talk 
it  so  much  here  that  I  cannot  fail  to  learn  it ;  my 
teacher  tells  me  that  if  I  apply  myself,  I  shall  learn  it 
easily  enough.  Helen's  studies  are  Music,  French, 
History,  Philosophy,  Grammar  and  Arithmetic.  I 
think  she  is  perfectly  contented  and  will  remain  so. 
1  have  had  letters  from  all  my  friends  since  I  came 
here,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  find  it  a  great  pleasure 
to  have  so  many  correspondents  while  in  a  convent. 
How  did  the  inauguration  pass  oft'?  If  father  has 
come  home,  write  and  tell  me  the  events  that  occur- 
red ;  give  my  love  to  father,  and  tell  him  I  shall  write 
to  him  soon.  Every  letter  is  seen  by  ma  Tante 
but  I  do  not  care,  as  I  do  not  write  or  receive 


N- 

anything,  but  what  I  am  willing  she  should  read. 

From  a  letter  written  to  a  young  friend  in  Burling- 
ton to  whom  she  was  devotedly  attached,  (and  who 
has  kindly  furnished  me  with  many  interesting  letters 
from  which  to  make  extracts),  I  select  the  following, 

under  date  of  the  28th  of  March "  You  know 

how  I  felt  about  coming  into  a  convent,  and  may  be 
surprised  when  I  tell  you  that  I  am  perfectly  con- 
tented and  would  not  leave  it  on  any  consideration 
whatever  to  attend  school  elsewhere.  Although  1 
sometimes  sigh  for  the  dear  friends  I  left  in  Burling- 
ton, it  is  better  for  me  to  be  here.     Home  too  !  1  of- 


•'•V. 


'"^ 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


17 


:lie  nuns, 
ture  (lay. 
t  think  I 
Christians 
3  knows 
ry  short 
sh  of  my 
ee  them, 
mge.     I 
:  think  I 
drawing 
atic,  un- 
menced, 
nd  shall 
home  in 
hey  talk 
it ;    my 
i  learn  it 
French, 
etic.     I 
pain  so. 

I  came 
)leasure 
onvent. 
ler  has 

occur- 
,11  write 

Tan  to 
receive 

tl 

urlin^- 
id  wlio 

letters 
owing, 
I  know 
nay  be 
y  con- 
eration 
nigh  I 
iirling- 

1  or- 


teii  wish  for  the  charms  that  surround  the  family  fire- 
side alone ;  though  we  may  be  happy  elsewhere  there 
is  no  place  on  earth  to  compare  with  it.  We  may 
visit  places  that  are  beautiful,  that  are  grand,  yet  the 
heart  will  turn  and  cling  fondly  to  home  "  be  it  ever 
so  humble."  This  my  L knpws.  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  often  we  used  to  stand  on  that  beautiful  green 
lawn  beneath  the  branches  of  those  old  trees  and 
watch  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  reflecting  their 
gorgeous  colors  upon  the  placid  waters  of  our  dear 
Champlain  ?  and  do  you  remember  how  we  used  to 
cast  our  eyes  up  and  down  the  shores  in  the  direction 
of  our  homes?  you'cannot  have  forgotten  those  mo- 
ments so  happily  si)ent,  and  I,  though  happy  in  my 
new  home,  yes,  very  happy,  cannot  forget  them,  but 

look  back  upon  them  with  pleasure " 

During  the  first  few  months  of  her  convent  life, 
Debbie  was,  though  perfectly  polite  in  her  deport- 
ment towards  all,  distant  and  reserved  also,  especial- 
ly with  the  nuns — declining  to  entor  into  conversa- 
tion with  them,  or  to  form  familiar  acquaintance  with 
any  of  her  young  companions,  who,  while  they  ad- 
mireil  the  charms  of  hor  ])crsoii  and  manners,  and  re- 
spected the  abilities  which  rendered  their  gifted  young 
rival  conspicuous  in  the  competition  of  the  class- 
rooms, were  more  captivated  with  the  winning  gayety 
and  artless  frankness  of  her  sister.  I'ime  wore  rath- 
er heavily  away  with  her  for  the  first  month  ;  though 
not  at  all  home-sick,  her  spirit  did  not  harmonize  with 
anvthinar  around  hei-,  and  she  souirht  relief  from  its 
weariness  by  most  diligent  a[)pli cation  to  study,  and 
intellectual  exercises.  She  conijilained  that  so  much 
attention  was  bestowed,  as  it  seemed  to  her  very  un- 
necessarily, upon  reliL  "U,  (the  season  being  that  of 
Lent,)  and  that  f*he  could  not  turn  her  eyes  in  any 
direction  withcnit  seeing  some  object  which  suggested 
thoughts  of  Eternity.  To  the  weekly  instructions  in 
the  class-room — given  by  the  Sisters  in  explanation 
of  the  truths  of  Divine  Revelation,  and  always  con- 
ducted collo(|uially,  that  the  pupils  may  offer  such  re- 
marks or  ask  such  (juestions  as  tliey  desire — she  was. 


I  I 


■. 


18 


THE    VoUNa    CONVERTS. 


however,  a  deeply  interested  and  intelligent  listener, 
thoujrh  she  seldom  ventured  any  remarks  herself  up- 
on the  subjects  under  discussion.  The  solemn  ser- 
vices of  Lent,  the  moving  meditations,  the  earnest 
exhortations  to  repentance  and  the  soul-searching  ex- 
aminations of  conscience,  which  always  form  a  part 
of  the  daily  chapel  exercises,  of  that  penitential  sea- 
son in  a  convent,  were  not  lost  upon  hor.  She  was 
not  willing  to  acknowledge  her  iirst  favorable  im- 
pressions even  to  herself,  or  to  manifest  them  by 
yielding  any  outward  tokens  of  respect  to  the  rites 
which  had  awakened  them,  beyond  tlie  mere  external 
conformity  which  Avas  exacted  from  all  the  pupils,  for 
Protestants  as  well  as  Catholics  were  required  to  at- 
tend services  in  chapel,  though  allowed  to  use  their 
own  books  of  devotion  or  Bibles  during  tha  time,  if 
they  wished.  In  this  conformity,  as  in  the  most  at- 
tentive and  strict  compliance  with  all  the  regulations 
of  the  institution,  she  was  so  exemplary  as  to  be  re- 
garded, even  within  the  first  mouth  after  her  entrance, 
as  a  pattern  of  excellence  in  those  respects,  both  by 
the  t^'achers  and  pupils. 

During  Holy  Week,  she  was  more  depressed  than 
ever,  as  most  of  the  scholars  were  .engaged  in  the 
absorbing  duties  of  the  season,  out  of  study  hours,  to 
the  great  abridgment,  if  not  entire  cessation  of  their 
ordinary  recreations.  On  Holy  Thursday,  Marc*h  24, 
when  her  young  companions  went  to  the  chapel  to 
offer  their  adorations  to  our  Divine  Redeemer  before 
the  Blessed  Sacrament,  on  tho  day  upon  which  wo 
commemorate  His  institution  of  that  sublime  memo- 
rial of  His  dying  love,  she  wandered  about  quite  lone- 
ly, and  at  length  seeing  her  favorite  teacher,  towards 
whom  she  was  beginning  to  manifest  some  affection, 
(though  she  carefully  abstained  in  the  presence  of  her 
companions  from  showing  any  regard  to  one  teacher 
more  than  another,)  and  in  whose  tender  and  faithful 
heart  she  quietly  confided  all  her  little  trials  and  dif- 
ficulties, she  complained  to  her  of  the  oppressive 
sense  of  loneliness  which  was  weighing  upon  her  spir- 
its.    The  good  Sister  advised  her  to  get  a  book  from 


THE    YOUNG    C0NVF:RTS. 


10 


listener, 
Tself  11  p- 
cniu  scr- 
!  earnost 
iliing  cx- 
n  a  part 
itial  sea- 
►Slie  was 
able  iin- 
:liem  by 
:he  rites 
external 
ipils,  for 
(d  to  at- 
se  their 
time,  if 
most  at- 
ulations 
D  be  re- 
itrance, 
poth  by 


ed  than 
n  the 
ours,  to 
f  their 
roll  24, 
apel  to 
before 
ich  we 
memo- 
e  lone- 
owards 
'ection, 
i  of  her 
:eacher 
aithfnl 
nd  dif- 
ressive 
r  spir- 
it from 


I 


the  library  for  her  amusement ;  secinnf  one  lyinp^  on 
her  table,  she  asked  if  she  niirrht  take  that.  The 
Sister  smilingly  assented,  thinking,  as  it  was  the 
"  Rule  of  Faith,"  that  she  would  hardly  find  much  in 
its  contents  wdiich  would  prove  attractive  or  interest- 
ing to  her  young  mind.  Del)bie,  however,  took  it 
away  with  her.  It  was  one  of  the  many  remarkable 
circumstances  by  which  the  hand  of  (Jod  guided  this 
singularly  favored,  soul,  that,  in  its  peculiar  state  at 
that  juncture,  this  book  proved  to  be  the  best  one 
which  could  have  been  selected  for  her.  To  her  care- 
fulpcrusal  of  it,  during  the  silence  and  quiet  of  that 
holy  season,  avc  may  safely  ascribe  the  subsequent 
clearness  and  firmness  of  her  conceptions  of  Catholic 
principles,  both  in  theory  and  practise. 

The  next  day  after  this  occurrence  being  Good 
Friday,  the  chapel  was  arrayed  in  its  mourning  dra- 
pery, in  preparation  for  the  solemn  and  affecting  ser- 
vices of  the  day.  Debbie  begged  permission  to  go 
with  the  sisters  to  see  it  before  those  services  com- 
menced, which  was  accorded.  She  was  deeply  moved 
by  the  sorrowful  aspect  it  presented.  The  young 
ladies  took  no  breakfast,  but  a  small  piece  of  bread 
and  a  glass  of  water.  The  sister  having  forgotten  to 
order  butter  for  the  Prot:stant  pupils,  did  so  as  soon 
as  she  noticed  the  omission,  but  observed  that  Debbie 
refused  to  take  any.  She  told  the  Sister  she  did  not 
know  what  she  sliould  do  with  herself  during-  the 
long  services  in  the  chapel.  "  Did  our  Divine  Re- 
deemer not  die  for  you  as  well  as  for  others  ?"  asked 
the   sister.      "  Yes,  ma  Tante,  I  suppose    He  did.'' 

"  Well,  can  vou  not  return  thanks  to  Him  for  His 
infinite  mercies  exhibited  in  the  groat  sacrifice  on 
Mount  Calvary,  and  bow  down  in  humble  sorrow  for 
your  sins,  which  made  that  sacrifice  necessary,  medi- 
tating deeply  upon  those  momentous  subjects  at  this 
time,  solemnly  set  apart  for  their  commemoration,  for 
this  one  day  at  least;  after  all  that  he  has  done  and 
suffered  for  you  ?"  She  was  so  impressed  by  the  sug- 
gestions of  the  good  Sister  that  she  passed  a  great 
part  of  the  day  in  the  ladies'  chapel,  and  in  tears. 


t 


II  I 

w 


20 


THE   YOUNG   CONVKRTH. 


Tliat  slic  mijnrlit  not  attract  the  attention  of  licr  sister 
and  her  companions,  slie  wouM  (fo  out  occasionally 
amonp^  them,  and  passinjr  throu'^1   the  various  groups 
in  dilierent  rooms,  that  they  might  say,  (if  she  was  in- 
([tiired  for,)  that  she  had  just  been  there,  return  to  her 
chosen  place  in  an  obscure  corner  of  the  cha])el,  to 
reticct  upon  her  sins  and  the  gi*eat  ex[)iation  offered 
for  them,  and  to  mourn  over  tliem  in  deep  contrition. 
Several  of  the  young  ladies  saw  her  there  at  dilfer- 
eut  times  during  the  day,  and  told  the  teacher  men- 
tioned above,  that  Debbie  JJarlow  was  kneeling  in 
the  chapel  and  weeping  sadly ;  they  were  told  not  to 
speak  of  it,  or  appear  to  notice  it.     She  always  dated 
her  conversion  from  that  day.     It  was  then  she  was 
jirst  led  by  God's  blessing  upon  a  word  "  spoken  in 
season,"  to  see  the  "  exceeding  sinfulness,"  as  she  ex- 
pressed it,  of  her  whole  life  thus  far,  and  her  need  of 
the  Divine  grace.    Fervently  did  she  pray,  as  the  hours 
of  that  mournful  but  blessed  Good  Friday  wore  on, 
that  the  same  Holy  Spirit  which  had  now  illuminated 
her  soul  w^tli  a  new  light,  and   inspired  it  with  new 
desires,  would  perfect   the  work  He  had  thus  begun, 
by  "  guiding  it  into  all  truth,"  anrl  "  abiding  with  her 
forever,"  to  be  her  Comforter  and  her  I'rotcctor  in 
this  life,  and  her  exceeding  great  reward  in  eternity. 
Early   in  April  she   wrote  the   following  letter  to 
her   mother — the    date  is  not  given  :     "  My    Dear 
MoTiiEFi:    Your  letter  was  received  some  days  since, 
and  I  should  have  answered  it  ere  this  had  I  not  been 
so  slow  at  writing,  for  there  has  lain  a  letter  in  my 
drawer  half  finished  for  the  last  few  dnys.     I  cannot 
imagine,  mother,  why*you  should  so  often  regret  send- 
ing us  here.     I  have  told  you  repeatedly  that  1  was 
■very  happy  here,  and  that  I  could  not    be  happier 
elsewhere.     You  are  assured  that  the  advantages  for 
obtaining  an  excellent  education  are  to  be  found  here, 
and  that  the  religious  feelings  of  the  young  ladies  are 
not  intruded  upon  by  the  Catholics.     I  will  tell  you 
again  that  nothing  has  been  said  to  me  either  by  my 
teachers    or    my  friends  unless    J   asked  them  some 
questions   in  relation  to  their  faith,  which   they  of 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


21 


icr  sister 
asionnlly 
IS  groups 
e  was  in- 
rn  to  her 
liajtol,  to 
II  offered 
ntrition . 
it  difFer- 
er  men- 
elinrr  ill 

;l  not  to 
yn  dated 
slic  was 
okeii  ill 
■i  slie  ex- 
need  of 
le  hours 
'ore  on, 
ruinated 
th  new 
begun, 
ith  her 
ctor  in 
ernity. 
tter  to 

Dear 

since, 
at  been 

in  my 
can hut 
t  send- 

1  was 
lappier 
ges  for 
d  liere, 
lies  are 
ell  you 
by  my 
I  some 
lev  of 


course  answered.  Helen  is  in  ecstacies  to  tliink  yoii 
are  coming  so  soon,  but  you  know  that  1  am  not  gen- 
erally 80  much  excited  by  good  news  as  she  is,  there- 
fore 1  try  to  make  her  think  sometimes  that  you  will 
not  come,  for  she  would  be  so  much  disappointed  if 
you  should  not.  I  am  in  hopes  to  see  you  the  first 
of  May.  but  even  if  you  do  not  come  it  will  not  bo 
long  before  we  Pee  you,  for  school  closes  the  15th  of 

July Helen    is    well,    and   sends  her  love. 

Give  my  love  to  grandmother,  to  all  of  my  friends, 
and  to  father  and  the  little  girls.  Write  soon  and 
often  to  your  affectionate  daughter,  Deiuhe." 

Soon  after  the  foregoing  letter  was  written,  she 
discovered  that  one  of  her  young  friends,  who  was 
very  pious  and  particularly  attached  to  her  (and  who 
is  now,  as  we  may  humbly  hope,  rejoicing  with  her  in 
a  better  world,  she  having  departed  tliis  life  some 
months  previously  to  Debbie),  was  making  a  novena, 
or  nine  days'  prayer,  to  obtain,  through  the  prayers 
of  St.  Joseph  united  with  her  own,  some  special  spir- 
itual favor  at  the  hands  of  God,  and  was  convinced 
that  the  object  of  it  was  her  own  conversion.  Hav- 
ing importuned  the  young  lady  in  vain  to  reveal  it, 
she  made  some  light  remarks  bordering  upon  contempt 
in  relation  to  such  prayers,  which  wounded  the  feel- 
ings of  her  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  A  few 
days  after,  when  they  had  entered  the  class-room  in 
the  morning,  her  thoughts  reverting  to  the  impropri- 
ety of  those  remarks  and  the  grief  they  had  caused 
her  frieiid,  she  tore  a  lly  leaf  from  her  class-book,  and 
wrote  v.'ith  a  pencil  ii{)on  it,  so  hastily  that  it  was  al- 
most illegible,  the  following  expressions  :  "  My  Dear 
Katie,  you  know  that  on  Hunday  last  1  guessed  what 
the  object  of  your  novena  to  St.  Joseph  was,  although 
I  almost  knew  what  it  was  before.  And  you  cannot 
fail  to  remember  how  lightly  I  spoke  of  your  prayors 
for  the  intercession  of  those^holy  souls,  who  were' the 
chosen  persf)ns  of  our  Father  hi  Heaven  to  protect 
His  only  Son,  our  dear  Saviour.  Dear  Kate,  they 
must  have  hart  your  heart  too  much  at  the  time  to 
forget  them  so  soon.     Will  you  be  surprised  when  I 


T^ 


22 


THE   YOUNQ    CONVERTS. 


iiii 


') 


tell  you  that  I  meant  very  little  what  I  said,  ami  will 
you  he  more  surprised  when  1  add  that,  at  heart,  1 
am  already  a  Catholic  !  Yes,  Kate  !  I  trust  your  no- 
vena  has  reached  the  Heavenly  Throne,  and  that  its 
ohjcct  has  been  attained  on  earth.  There  has  lain 
on  my  heart  a  load — yes  !  in  my  ^niyest  hours  you 
mi^ht  have  seen,  if  you  cast  a  look  on  my  face,  a 
troubled  expression,  one  of  anxiety,  and  what  caused 
it  V  The  conviction  that  I  oiif/ht  to  be  a  Catholic  and 
would  not.  Jiast  ni^dit  I  thought  I  could  endure  it 
no  longer;  my  heart  was  willing,  and  1  did  seek  for 
advise  from  one  of  the  nuns.  I  have  not  read  to  con- 
vince myself,  nor  have  I  prayed  until  ({uite  lately,  but 
others  have  done  the  latter  for  me,  which  I  will  ever 
remember.  1  must  some  time  be  a  Catholic!  I  can 
be  nothing  else.      Kven   if  I  read  only  my  Bible,  I 

mmt  believe  the  truths  of  that  Church Yes, 

Kate,  believe  mc,  I  am  a  Catholic,  and  pray  for  your 
affectionate  Debbie." 

The  same  day  she  wrote  the  above,  she  asked  the 
teacher  whom  she  loved  best,  to  give  her  a  medal. 
The  Sister  told  her  she  would  give  her  one  if  she 
would  promise  to  wear  it,  which  she  did.  That  med- 
al she  never  put  aside ;  it  was  laid  with  her  fair  and 
precious  form  in  the  grave.  She  often  asked  this  Sis- 
ter for  explanations  of  the  doctrines  and  rites  of  the 
Catholic  religion.  Her  questions  were  evaded  under 
one  pretext  and  another,  as  it  was  a  violation  of  their 
rule  for  a  teacher  to  speak  of  religion  to  a  Protestant 
pupil.  When  she  was  determined  not  to  be  put  off 
thus,  they  were  answered  as  briefly  as  possible,  and 
under  protest  as  it  were,  on  account  of  the  rule,  the 
Sister  telling  her  she  would  rather  she  would  not  ask 
them,  advising  her  also  to  meditate  for  herself  upon 
the  great  truths  of  religion,  and  to  pray  fervently  for 
light  from  Heaven  to  guide  her  soul.  Her  frequent 
expressions  were,  that  she  read  only  her  Bible,  but 
she  found  confirmation  of  some  Catholic  doctrine  or 
practice  upon  every  page  of  it,  and  that  many  passages 
which  mean  nothing  to  Protestants,  were  full  of  sig- 


i 


THE    YOUN(;    CONVERTS. 


23 


aiul  will 

HEART,  1 

your  uo- 
tliat  iU 
has  lain 
)ur8  you 
y  face,  a 
it  caused 
lolic  and 
udurc  it 
seek  for 
d  to  con- 
itely,  but 
will  ever 
'  I  can 
Bible,  I 
, .  Yes, 
for  your 


n 


)CI 


:uiii£. 

sked  the 

a  medal. 

le  if  she 

[lat  med- 

fair  and 

this  Sis- 

s  of  the 

1  under 

of  their 

otestant 

put  off 

ible,  and 

rule,  the 

not  ask 

If  upon 

ntly  for 

frequent 

ible,  but 

trine  or 

massages 

I  of  sig- 


nificance when  jiliiccd  in  the  light  of  the  Catholic 
doliiiition  of  thcni. 

Ik'l'ore  the  close  of  the  month  of  April  she  had  won 
for  her  name  a  place  ujjon  the  "  Table  of  Honor," 
with  those  of  thirteen  others  whose  hioh  merit  for 
pro<jfross  in  their  studies,  and  perfect  decorum  of  de- 
jxntnuMit  aluue,  secured  that  distinction  for  them. 
Very  few  indeed  are  so  successful  as  to  attain  it  with- 
in their  first  year  as  jiupils !  The  last  of  Aj)ril  she 
was  elected  by  the  school  as  one  of  the  two  maids  of 
honor  to  the  May  <^>ucen,  which  oflices  were  held  du- 
rin«^  the  remainder  of  the  year.  This  election  mark- 
ed  not  only  her  i)lace  upon  the  "  Table  of  Honor,  as 
the  candidates  are  chosen  from  its  list,  but  also  the 
high  estimation  in  which  she  was  held  by  her  young 
compan''.as,  the  choice  having  been  almost  unani- 
mous, .^peaking  of  it  in  a  letter  to  her  mother  a  few 
days  after,  she  says :    "  1    wrote    you   yesterday  by 

JJ ,  but  it  never  entered  my  head  to  tell  you  that 

I  have  the  great  distinction  of  being  one  of  the  May 
Queen's  maids  of  honor.  Perhaps  it  was  from  hamil- 
itj/  that  1  deferred  telling  you  until  my  teachers  told 
me  to,  for  you  are  well  aware  that  1  have  a  good  share 
of  that.  ]>ut  1  must  enter  into  the  subject  of  my 
letter,  for  1  have  but  a  few  minutes,  as  this  must  go 
to-night."  That  subject  was  in  relation  to  the  white 
dress  necessary  for  the  occasion,  as  they  had  not  yet 
received  their  summer  costumes.  I'he  letter  she  there 
alludes  to  is,  I  suppose,  the  following,  written  a  few 
days  previous  to  the  date  of  that  one  :  . . .  .      "  Your 

letter   containing  dollars,    was    received    some 

time  since,  and  should  have  been  answered  before 
this;  but  time  passes  so  swiftly  that  days  and  weeks 
slip  by  unheeded,  and  1  forget  that  it  is  time  I  should 
answer  my  letters;  and,  besides,  every  hour  in  the 
day  is  adapted  to  some  particular  study  or  amuse- 
ment, and  we  hardly  know  how  or  where  it  goes. 
After  your  letter  arrived,  I  purchased  every  thing  we 
needed,  with  the  exception  of  the  things  we  have  at 
home.  You  asked  in  your  letter  if  the  bonnets  and 
mantillas  would  do  for  us  ?     Yes,  they  will,  and  Hel- 


24 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


:  ;  !' 


ii 


en  can  wear  lier  dress.  I  would  like  you  to  brin^ 
our  barege  dresses  and  my  black  lace  cape.  I  think 
of  nothing  else  at  j)resent.  I  was  just  called  down 
and  received  a  letter  from  you,  saying  that  the  ill- 
ness of  father  would  prevent  your  coming  to  see  us 
at  present.  I  am  sorry,  but  at  the  greatest  it  will  bo 
about  ten  weeks  before  we  go  home. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  father  is  so  unwell,  but 
hope  his  sickness  will  pass  off  without  any  serious 
effects.  How  is  grandmother  now  ?  Tell  her  that  T 
hope  to  sec  her  well  enough  to  come  down  to  our 
house  often,  while  I  am  at  home.  Give  my  love  to 
her  and  all  my  friends,  and  tell  them  that  they  need 
not  expect  me  home  from  home-sickness  ;  for,  as  sum- 
mer advances,  I  find  the  convent  pleasanter  than  in 
winter ;  and  as  I  was  very  happy  through  that  sea- 
son, I  am  sure  I  shall  be  during  the  summer  months. 
I  am  very  well,  and  Helen  is  getting  so  sh*e  looks 
like  a  very  healthy  girl."   .... 

When  they  were  preparing  for  the  coronation  of 
the  May  Queen,  she  went  with  the  companion  who 
had  made  the  novena  for  her,  to  get  a  piece  of  carpet 
from  the  sanctuary  of  the  young  ladies'  chapel,  upon 
the  altar  of  which  the  Blessed  Sacrament  was  also 
kept.  When  she  was  within  the  sanctuary,  and  in 
front  of  the  Tabernacle — never  having  been  so  near 
it  before — an  indescribable  feeling  of  awe  came  over 
her,  (just  as  she  stooped  to  take  up  the  carpet)  and 
raising  her  heart  towards  it  she  breathed  within  her- 
self, with  humble  simplicity  and  sincerity,  this  aspi- 
ration :  "  My  Divine  Lord  Jesus,  if  I'hou  art,  as  the 
Catholics  believe,  really  present  in  that  Tabernacle,  I 
adore  Thee  with  all  the  powers  of  my  soul !"  After 
saying  tnis  in  her  own  mind,  the  full  assurance  of  the 
truth  of  that  sublime  mystery  which  was  destined  to 
bo  from  that  time  as  an  anchor  to  her  soul,  sure  and 
firm,  stole  like  a  flood  of  light  over  her  spirit,  with 
such  overhelming  power,  that  she  was  lost  to  all 
sense  of  every  thing  around  her,  for  the  few  moments 
which  followed  this  her  first  act  of  adoration  before 
our  Lord  in  the  Blessed  Eucharist ;  when  her  com- 


THE   YOUN"'    CONVERTS. 


25 


to  bring 
I  think 

ed  tlown 
the  ill- 

0  see  us 
t  will  be 

well,  but 
Y  serious 
er  that  T 

1  to  our 
y love  to 
hev  neeil 
',  as  sum- 
r  than  in 
that  sea- 

uionths. 
)h*e  looks 

ation   of 

nion  who 

of  carpet 

el,  upon 

as  also 

and  in 

so  near 

anie  over 

et)  and 

lin  her- 

lis  aspi- 

t,  as  the 

nacle,  I 

After 

ce  of  the 

tined  to 

urc  and 

it,  witli 

X   to   all 

nomeuts 

I  before 

or  corn- 


'I 


panions,  having  spoken  to  her  several  times,  (in  a 
whisper,  of  course,  for  none  may  speak  aloud  in  that 
rresence,)  touched  her  upon  the  shoulder,  and,  arous- 
ing her  from  the  joyful  contemplation,  hurried  her 
away  to  the  scene  of  their  preparations.  This  little 
incident  was  recorded  in  a  small  memorandum-book, 
which  she  carried  about  with  her,  and  in  which  she 
noted  down  every  event  of  each  day.  To  her  great 
chagrin  she  lost  it,  but  it  was  afterwards  found  and 
preserved,  by  a  singular  and  apparently  accidental 
circumstance. 

The  letter  of  which  the  following  is  a  portion,  was 

written  on  the  15th  of   May "  Mr.  B n 

called  to  see  us  last  week.  He  said  he  had  seen  fa- 
ther a  short  time  before,  and  told  him  he  would  come 
anil  see  us.  He  seemed  to  be  somewliat  surprised  at 
my  thinking  so  much  of  the  convent,  and  had  a  good 
deal  to  say  about  the  Catholics,  etc.  He  saw,  on  en- 
tering the  parlor,  some  paintings  and  images  of  the 
[Messed  Virgin  and  saints,  and  after  looking  at  them 
for  sometime,  he  exclaimed,  '  What  superstition  !  what 
Idolatry  /'  '  What  is  it  ?'  said  I.  '  Why  this  flum- 
mery worship  of  saints,  images,  etc. ;  don't  you  think 
so  ?'  said  he,  addressing  me.  '  No,'  said  I,  '  you  are 
very  much  mistaken  ;  it  is  neither  idolatry  nor  super- 
stition ;  for,  to  begin  with,  they  do  not  worship  them 
— -it  is  only  honor  or  reverence  they  give  to  them  ; 
but  this  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  heard  that  Cath- 
olics did  this  and  Catholics  did  that,  so  I  do  not  find 
it  strange.  All  I  know  is,  that  they  are  very  different 
from  what  I  hmrd  tho.y  were.'*  He  said  he  thought  we 
were  kept  pretty  well  by  our  looks,  especially  Helen. 
Cora  and  Sarah  passed  through  Montreal  about  two 
weeks  ago;  they  stopped  to  see  us,  but  did  not  stay 
but  a  few  minutes.  How  is  Cora's  brother  ?  She  said 
she  hardly  thought  he  would  be  alive  when  she  got 
home."    

Debbie  lias  been  described  to  me  by  her  teachers 
as  possessing  at  that  time,  a  rare  combination  of 
sprightliaess  and  serenity,  which  irriparted  a  peculiai* 


26 


THE    YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


I 


iMii 


;i  I 


I  ; 


i 


i   1 


li! 


ill 


charm  to  her  character,  and  to  her  manners  a  "  name- 
less  grace."     She  differed  in  many  respects  from  most 
girls  of  her  age,  and  manifested  none  of  that  affection 
for  some  particular  nun  which  they  are  apt  to  show 
by  choosing  favorites  among  them.     One  evening  the 
young  ladies  were  each   naming  her   favorite  nun, 
and  expatiating  upon  the  good  qualities   for  which 
she  admired  that  favorite,  enumerating  and  reciting 
these  in  a  sort  of  chant.     Debbie  remained  a  silent 
listener,  when  one  of  them  exclaimed  :  "  Well,  Miss 
Barlow,  you  have  said  nothing ;   who  is  your  chosen 
favorite?"     "I  love  them  all!"  she  replied,  in  her 
tranquil  manner,  but  with  deep  feeling.     "  Oh,  what 
a  cold,  indifferent  person  you  are!"  they  exclaimed; 
"  we  do  not  believe  you  really  care  for  any  one  !" 
"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  "  if  you  could  see  my  heart  you 
would  think  quite  differently."     Her  perfect  habits  in 
every  respect  as  a  pupil  seemed  to  result  from  an  in- 
nate sense  of  propriety,  which  governed  all  her  move- 
ments.    Every  duty  appeared  to  be  performed  with- 
out an  effort.     Her  sweet  and  engaging  modesty,  her 
lovely  conduct  and  easy  politeness  towards  all,  seem- 
ed to   How  spontaneously  from   her   well  regulated 
heart.     These  excellences  cost  her  no  effort,  indeed, 
at  the  time,  but  they  were  the  result  of  the  exercise 
on  her  part  of  constant  and  thorough  self-discipline. 
She  realized  and  proved  the  truth  of  that  maxim  of 
the  glorious  Thomas  a  Kempis,  that  "  a  watch  over 
the  senses  is  the  foundation  of  purity,  the  discipline 
of  peace,  and  the  mirror  of  devotion." 

Ii\  the  regular  routine  of  school  life  in  a  convent, 
while  there  are  but  few  stirring  events  or  varied  in- 
cidents to  busy  the  pen  of  the  narrator  or  interest  the 
general  reader,  there  is  still  by  no  means  any  lack  of 
interesting  and  even  exciting  variety  to  the  pupils. 
Every  week  is  enlivened  by  some  affectionate  device 
on  the  part  of  the  teachers  for  their  auiusement,  with 
which  they  are  often  taken  by  surprise,  as  it  were,  to 
enhance  the  pleasure,  and  to  promote  the  object  for 
which  they  are  expressly  designed,  by  breaking  the 
tranquil  round  that  might  otherwise  become  monoto- 


THE  YOUNG  CONVERTS. 


27 


a  "  name- 
from  most 
t  affection 
t  to  show 
/ening  the 
orite  nau, 
for  which 
d  reciting 
Dtl  a  silent 
^Vell,  Miss 
>ur  chosen 
ed,  in  her 
'  Oh,  what 
jxclaimed ; 
any  one  !" 

heart  you 
;t  habits  in 
rom  an  in- 

her  move- 
•med  with- 
Ddesty,  her 
i  all,  seem- 

rejTiilated 
)rt,  indeed, 
le  exercise 

discipline. 

maxim  of 
vatch  over 

discipline 

a  convent, 
varied  in- 

nterest  the 

ny  lack  of 

Dhe  pupils. 

late  device 
iient,  with 

it  were,  to 
object  for 
aking  the 

le  monoto- 


nous. Thus,  to  the  pupils  after  the  first  irksomeness 
of  its  discipline  and  requirements  is  past,  time  glides 
imperceptibly  and  pleasantly  away,  while  habits  of 
perfect  order  in  all  their  studies,  occupations  and  re- 
creations, of  inestimable  value  to  them  in  after  life, 
are  as  imperceptibly  acquired  and  permanently  fixed. 

In  this  manner  did  it  pass  with  our  young  friend, 
when  she  had  become  habituated  to  that  routine,  and 
she  always  recurred  to  those  months  which  were  most 
free  from  any  occurrences  to  mark  the  flight  of  days 
and  weeks,  as  quite  the  happiest  of  her  life.  When 
the  time  for  the  annual  examination  and  vacation  was 
approaching,  «he  had  become  so  much  attached  to 
her  "convent  home,"  that  she  began  to  be  oppressed 
at  times  with  the  fear  that  she  would  not  be  permit- 
ted to  return  to  it  at  the  close  of  the  vacation.  She 
was  determined,  however,  not  to  think  of  a  lasting 
separation,  which  would  be  so  full  of  grief  for  her  as 
among  the  probabilities  of  her  future.  Under  the 
pressure  of  these  emotions  she  wrote  the  following,  as 
an  interchange  with  some  of  the  dearest  of  her  young 
friends  and  class-mates,  who  also  offered  correspond- 
ing written  expressions  of  their  sentiments  and  feel- 
ings, as  the  time  for  parting  drew  near  : 

"  >>ix  months  ! — I  can  hardly  realize  that  so  long  a 
time  has  passed  since  I  came  to  the  convent ;  it  seems 
ratlier  a  few  happy  days,  with  little  or  nothing  to  ob- 
scure their  brightness.  For  what  are  the  troubles  of 
onr  school  days?  Nothing.  They  pass  away  with  the 
evening  sun,  leaving  behind  no  trace  of  sorrow  upon 
the  heart.  And  here  in  our  peaceful  home,  where 
every  thing  breathes  of  naught  but  unity  and  love, 
can  trouble  mar  the  joys  of  our  young  hearts  ?  No  ! 
— and  now  that  I  leave  my  second  home  for  a  few 
short  weeks,  I  would  fain  express  my  admiration  of 
its  precepts,  and  my  love  and  gratitude  to  my  teach- 
ers. But  what  pen  can  portray  the  feelings  of  a  tru- 
ly grateful  heart  ?  Ah  !  it  would  require  one  far  more 
able  than  mine.  F  cotild  almost  throw  it  aside,  and 
.  exclaim,  words  can  not  express  them  !  Each  day  1 
have  seen  more  to  admire,  more  to  love — each  day 


li: 


'![ 


^^11 


28 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


found  some  new  example  of  the  devotedness  of  those 
under  whose  care  we  are  placed,  some  new  mark  of 
their  tender  solicitude  for  our  welfare.  Here  a  word 
of  advice,  there  of  encouragement,  each  tending  to 
smooth  the  little  impediments  we  chanced  to  meet, 
and  urging  us  onward  in  the  path  of  duty,  and  at  the 
same  time  filling  the  soul  with  the  deepest  gratitude 
to  those  whom  we  may  justly  deem  our  truest  friends. 
And  now  as  we  are  leaving,  beloved  companions,  let 
the  words  of  admonition  we  have  here  received  be  ev- 
er before  us ;  some  are  bidding  a  last  farewell,  but  I 
have  before  me  the  briglit  prospect  of  returning  to 
the  spot  where  so  many  happy  hours  have  been  spent, 
and  the  recollections  of  which  memory  will  ever  re- 
tain." 

When  her  parents  came  to  attend  the  examination, 
her  worst  fears  were  well  nigh  confirmed  and  she  saw 
with  the  deepest  sorrow  that  she  would  probably  be 
called  to  endure  a  final  separation  from  all  to  which 
she  had  become  so  strongly  attached.  Her  emotions 
upon  leaving  the  convent  were  so  painful  that,  three 
years  later,  when  she  was  with  her  beloved  teacher  at 
St.  Eustache,  she  entered  upon  the  fly-leaf  of  the  book 
in  which  she  kept  her  diary  there :  ''  I  came  to  the 
convent,  the  first  time,  on  the  9th  of  February,  1853, 
and  left  it  the  15th  of  July,  the  same  year.  These  two 
days  were  the  most  unhappy  days  of  my  life,  bnt  from 
different  causes.  The  first,  because  I  was  unwilling 
to  remain  in  the  convent;  the  second,  because  I  had 
to  leave  it.'V 


'Iff 


■*"V»i 


I- 


29 


iGSS  of  those 
cw  mark  of 
tiere  a  word 
,  tending  to 
ed  to  meet, 
r,  and  at  the 
^t  gratitude 
uest  friends, 
ipanions,  let 
eived  be  ev- 
rewell,  but  I 
retm-ning  to 
}  been  spent, 
will  ever  re- 

3xamination, 
and  she  saw 
probably  be 
all  to  which 
ler  emotions 
1  that,  three 
ed  teacher  at 
f  of  the  book 
came  to  the 
jruary,  1853, 
These  two 
life,bnt  from 
as  unwilling 
lecause  I  had 


CHAPTEE    II. 


When  our  young  friend  returned  to  her  home,  and 
was  again  among  the  friends  of  her  childhood,  they 
all  expressed  their  entire  satisfaction  with  her  remark- 
able improvement,  both  in  mind  and  person,  during 
so  short  a  space  of  time.  I  cannot  better  describe  her 
personal  appearance  at  that  period,  than  by  giving 
the  words  of  Cardinal  Wiseman,  in  his  description 
of  the  youthful  St.  Agnes,  whose  name  was  after- 
wards given  to  our  beloved  Debbie  in  baptism.  "In 
her  countenance  might  be  seen  united  the  simplicity 
of  childhood,  with  the  intelligence  of  maturer  age. 
There  not  merely  dwelt  in  her  eyes  that  dove-like  in- 
nocence which  the  sacred  poet  describes  (Cant.  1st, 
14th),  but  often  there  beamed  from  them  rather  an 
intensity  of  pure  afi'ection,  as  tnough  they  were  look- 
ing beyond  all  surrounding  objects,  and  rested  upon 
One,  unseen  by  all  else,  but  to  her  really  present,  and 
exquisitely  dear.  Her  forehead  was  the  very  seat  of 
candor,  open  and  bright  with  undisguised  truthful- 
ness; a  kindly  smile  played  about  the  lips,  and  the 
fresh,  youthful  features  varied  their  sensitive  expres- 
sion with  guileless  earnestness,  passing  rapidly  from 
one  feeling  to  the  other,  as  her  warm  and  tender  heart 
received  it." 

Soon  after  she  reached  home,  the  depressing  con- 
victiftn  that  she  should  return  no  more  as  a  pupil  to 
her  "  dear  convent  home,"  settled  heavily  upon  her, 
causing  sensations  of  "  in'ixpressiblc  regret."  The 
alarm  of  her  devoted  parents — perfectly  kind  and  in- 
dulgent in  all  other  respects — was  so  great,  upon  dis- 


30 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


"'I  I'iii 

1, 4  i 

!!  m\  ,:   i 


:•'! 


:^i  'I 


,iii 


lU'llt        l!\, 


covering  the  course  which  her  tlionghts  and  inclina- 
tions were  taking  in  religious  matters,  that  they  even 
forbade  her  keeping  up  any  correspondence  with  her 
beloved  friends  and  teachers.  Her  favorite  one 
among  these,  (who  was  now  removed  to  the  Mission 
Convent  at  Yamachiche,  where  she  remained  until 
transferred  from  there  to  St.  Eustache,)  being  wholly 
unconscious  of  the  turn  matters  had  taken,  awaited 
for  a  long  time  the  arrival  of  the  promised  letter  from 
her  dear  child,  when  her  fears  being  awakened  lest 
ill  health  or  some  other  accident  occasioned  her  si- 
lence, she  wrote  to  inquire  the  reason  why  she  had 
failed  to  fulfill  the  promise  made  at  parting.  The 
following  is  an  extract  from  Debbie's  reply  to  that 
letter : 

"Fairfield,  Sept.  18,  1853 You  think  I 

have  forgotten  you;  no!  I  am  not  capable  of  forget- 
ting those  I  love,  and,  so  long  as  I  think  of  friends 
and  kindred,  so  long  will  I  remember  ma  Tante  St. 
A ;  but  when  this  heart  becomes  cold  and  indiffer- 
ent,  insensible  to  every  earthly  affection,  when  it 
ceases  to  think  of  friends,  then  will  you  be  forgotten, 
and  not  till  then ;  but  methinks  that  time  is  far  dis- 
tant, far,  far !  They  call  me  cold-hearted,  ungrate- 
ful ;  but  those  who  say  this  mistake  my  character  and 
disposition,  allow  me  to  say ;  for,  far  from  being  ei- 
ther, I  never  forget  a  kindness,  and  I  am  sorry  to  add 
that  it  is  not  in  me  naturally  to  forget  an  injury  ;  I 
can  forgive,  but  it  is  hard  to  forget.  Now,  my  dear 
Tante,  I  presume  you  will  say  I  am  very  wicked,  and 
that  your  pauvre  enfant*  is  not  much  changed,  that 
her  head  is  still  the  same  ;  but  I  will  leave  this  for 
something  more  interesting.  My  reasons  for  not  re- 
turning were  numerous.  I  wished  to  go,  but  mother 
wished  me  to  remain  at  home ;  she  thought  it  was  so 
far  away,  besides  she  thought  ray  health  would  suf- 
fer should  I  remain  in  a  convent,  and  mamj  other  rea- 
torn.  My  parents  and  friends  were  much  pleased  with 
the  improvement  I  made  in  my   studies,  etc.,  etc. 

*  Poor  child. 


"THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


31 


,11(1  inclina- 
:  they  even 
e  with  her 
eorite  one 
ae  Mission 
lined  until 
ling  wholly 
n,  awaited 
letter  from 
kened  lest 
led  her  si- 
ly  she  had 
^ing.  The 
ply  to  that 

on  think  I 
}  of  forge  t- 
of  friends 
Tante  8t. 
md  indijfer- 
,   when   it 
forgotten , 
is  far  dis- 
,  ungrate- 
racter  and 
being  ei- 
)rry  to  add 
injury;  I 
,  my  dear 
aivked,  and 
nged,  that 
e   this  for 
or  not  re- 
nt mother 
;  it  was  so 
would  suf- 
otJier  rea- 
eased  with 
etc.,   etc. 


'¥ 


Two  dear  cousins  of  mine  arc  going  to  Montreal  next 
week.  I  wish  you  were  going  to  be  there  to  teach 
them  French — you  had  so  much  patience  teaching 
your  ''paavre  enfant.'^  " 

Her  YQ\)\y  to  the  second  letter  of  this  friend  was 
written  under  the  fear  that,  if  she  expressed  wiiat  she 
felt,  all  correspondence  between  them  would  be  for- 
bidden.    It  was  so  reserved  and  constrained,  so  unlike 
her  real  feelings  in  its  tone,  that  when  she  afterwards 
happened  to  find  the  letter,  while    remaining  for  a 
year  with  her  friend  and  teacher  at  St.  Eustache,  she 
destroyed  it.     Soon  after  she  received  the  reply  to  it, 
she  went  to  8t.  Albans  to  pass  some  days   with    a 
female  relative  from  another  place,  to  whom  she  was 
very  fondly  attached,  and  who  was  then  stopping  a 
few  days  in  a  hotel  at  St.  Albans.     While  there,  she 
wrote,  under  the  sanction  of  the  relative  mentioned, 
(who  fully  reciprocated  the  affection  of  the  beloved 
child,  and  who,  though  a  Protestant,  thought  the  op- 
position to  her  feelings  had  been  carried  too  far,  and 
would,  if  continued,  defeat  its  own  object  by  securing 
the  dreaded  result,)  the  letter,  a  portion  of  which  I 
shall  here  give.     It  was  dated  "St.  Albans,  Dec.  23  : 
1853:"  and  began  \vitli  apologies  for   the    coolness 
of  her  last,  and   explanations  of  the  reasons,  man- 
ifesting in  a  most  affecting  manner  the  conflict  be- 
tween her  desire  of  rendering  strict  obedience  to  the 
reijuirements  of  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  her  and 
whose  wishes  she  sincerely  respected  and  the  warm 
impulses  which  moved  her  to  express  the  deep  and 
abiding  affection  and  confidence   she  entertained  to- 
wards the  friend  who   was,  next  to  them,    dearer  to 
her  than  all  others    .while  she  knew  that  the  injunc- 
tions requiring  her  to  make  so  painful  a  sacrifice  of 
her  own  feelings  were  the  result  of  a  total  misappre- 
hension of  the  real  truth  on  the  part  of  those  imposing 
them,  and  continued  :  ''  I  have  searched  earnestly  and 
with  an  unprejudiced  mind,  as  far  as  I  had  the  oppor- 
tunity, the  catechisms,  records,  and   writintrs   of  the 
Church  of  Christ— you  understand  me,  the  "^Catholic-— 
and  as  I  told  you  often,  very  often,  I  found  much  in  it 


32 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


*i  i  i 


to  atlmiro.       I  have  not  clmngcd  in  tliat  rrspcct.     I 
came  lionie   with  a  mind  very  different  from  ^vhat  it 
was   previous  to  my  going  to  the  convent,  and  my 
friends  soon  discovered  it.      Kot  that  I  ever  expressed 
a  wish  to  unite  with  tlie  Church.     No!    I  was  not 
yet  prepared  to  judge  of  the  other  sects  of  Christians, 
and  I  felt  tliat  I  must  look  for  a  while  upon  their  rea- 
8onw(/8  in  regard  to  the  matter;  and  J  have,     I  have 
read  and  conversed  with  many  ;    and  have  at  last  de- 
cided to  he  guided  hy  faith  and  wv  own  reason.    I  have 
heard  the  Catliolics  ridiculed  and  assailed   in  every 
possihle  manner,  not  hy  my  own  relatives  more  than 
by  others.     It  lias  seemed  tome  that  it  would  amount 
to  more  than  tliree  months  taken  together,  that  I  have 
spent  talking  with  ignorant,  euperstitious,  wilfully  blind 
and    intolerant     I'rotestants.     I   cotild  not   avoid   it. 
One  would  come  in,  'Well,  Debbie,  I  hear  you  are  a 
Catholic,'  and  from  that  would  run  on  until  I  have 
been  compelled  by  my  own  conscience  and  better  feel- 
ings to  stand  up  in  defence,  as  far  as  I  was  able,  of 
a  religion  I  respected,  and  in  many  things  loved.     I 
would  not,  and  I  will  not,  sit  and  hear  a  person  igno- 
rant or  not,  so  go  on  with  rail-road  speed  against  the 
clergy  or  the  religious  orders  of  females  in  the  Catho- 
lic Church;  that  I  cannot  put  vp  with.     At  last  I  have 
refused  to  hear  anything  in  reference  to  the  matter,  un- 
less they  asked  these  questions  in  a  civil,  respectful 
manner.     1  have  had  controversies  and  conversations, 
etc.,  etc.,  until  I  am  tired  of  the  nanieof  Church,  and 

feel  perfectly  reckless 1  will  defend  the  nuns, 

no  matter  where  they  arc,  and  if  the  inference  they 
deduce  from  this  is  that  I  am  going  to  become  a  Cath- 
olic, they  are  at  liberty  to  do  so.  1  have  a  relation 
whom  I  am  stopping  with  now,  and  who  is  very  kind 
and  considerate  for  me.  She  has  just  given  me  a 
large  beautiful  gold  cross.  I  shall  value  it  very  high- 
ly. At  the  hotel  where  I  am  nov/  stopping  there  is 
alovety  woman  boarding,  who  is  a  convert  from  Pro- 
testantism to  Catholicism,  bhe  lost  her  only  daughter 
last  spring,  and  she  hatl  spent  some  time  in  the  Con- 
vent of  the  &^acrcd  Heart  in  New  York.     She  wishes 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


ds 


ospcct.    r 

m  Avliat  it 
t,  and  mv 

expressed 
I  was  not 
JLristians, 
1  their  rea- 
B,  I  Lave 
at  last  de- 
n.   I  liave 

in  e very- 
more  than 
Id  amount 
bat  I  have 
fully  blind 

moid   it. 
you  are  a 
il  I  have 
etter  feel- 
!  able,  of 
loved.     I 
rson  igno- 
^•ainst  the 
he  Catho- 
st  I  have 
atter,  un- 
I'cspectful 
ersations, 
iirch,  and 
the  nuns, 
nee  they 
e  a  Cath- 
i  relation 
-ery  kind 
en  me  a 
ery  high- 
!,'  there  is 
•cm  Pro- 
:laughter 
the  Con- 
le  wishes 


me  to  give  her  love  to  you.  She  thinks  mms  nxa  per- 
fect. She  that  was  Jennie  Hall  (now  Mrs.  Lynn,)  is 
failing  very  fast;  she  cannot  live  but  a  short  time; 
she  told  me  she  would  write  to  the  convent,  but  she 
was  not  able.  She  is  very  happy,  and  seems  to  wel- 
come death  almost." 


4 


9 


34 


CHAPTER   III 


•^    «• 


m  ;i 


'iiiiiii 


I  m 


I ; 


On  the  4th  of  January,  18'jI,  and  soon  after  her 
return  from  8t.  Albans  to  Fairfield,  Debbie  wrote 
to  the  young  Protestant  friend,  to  whom  her  letter 
from  the  convent  was  addressed,  the  one  from  which 
I  make  the  following  extract ; 

"  Beloved  L :   Yours  wa=«  just  received,  and 

as  you  request  an  immediate  answer,  I  have  stationed 
myself  at  my  table  to  write  to  you.  You  know  not 
how  happy  I  was  to  hear  from  you  again,  and  T  will 
now  tell  you  how  I  have  written,  and  how  many  times. 
In  September  I  received  a  letter  written  from  Shel- 
burn  :  I  answered  it,  and  soon  after  went  to  Madrid 
and  spent  two  weeks :  as  soon  as  I  reached  home, 
which  was  Saturday,  I  sat  down  and  wrote  to  you, 
and  a  week  from  the  next  Sunday  I  received  a  letter 
from  you  saying  that  you  had  not  heard  from  me 
since  you  were  in-Shelburn,  and  you  wished  me  to 
write  immediately,  and  I  did  so,  requesting  an  answer 
as  soon  as  you  received  mine.  I  then  waited  three 
weeks,  and,  not  hearing  one  word  from  you,  I  wrote 
again,  which  was  about  a  week  since.  tJndoubtedly 
you  will  receive  the  last  mentioned,  but  will  know 
that  it  was  written  previous  to  the  reception  of  yours. 

Y^es,  indeed !   my  dear  L ,  you  are  forgiven,  and 

I  shall  forget  it  all :  I  only  hope  it  will  strengthen 
our  friendship,  and  the  confidence  we  have  reposed  in 
each  other  may  grow  more  and  more  perfect.  This 
little  interruption  has  not  diminished  my  love  for  you: 
no  !  far  from  it.  I  do  not  now  feel  as  though  any 
thing  but  death,  nor  even  that,  could  make  me  love 
you  less  or  forget  you.     My  spirit  cherishes  the  fond 


III). 


THE   YOUNQ    CONVERTS. 


35 


after  her 
bie  wrote 
ler  letter 
)ni  which 

ivcd,  and 
stationed 
know  not 
ind  T  will 
my  times, 
om  Shel- 
0  Madrid 
ed  home, 

to  you, 
i  a  letter 
from  me 
d  me  to 
n  answer 
ted  three 
,  I  wrote 
oubtedly 
all  know 
of  yours, 
iven,  and 
rengthen 
Bposed  in 
This 

for  vou : 
)ugh  any 

me  love 

the  fond 


'•Ss 


M 


hope  that  anjrols  watch  our  dail);  intercourse  with  the 
world,  and  my  soul  delights  to  muse  upon  the  good- 
ness of  One  who,  in  IJis  infinite  mercy,  has  provided 
a  Home  for  the  weary  travellers  of  earth,  the  happi- 
ness of  which  no  mind  can  conceive;  and  I  believe 
firmly  and  Httadfaathj  that  we  are  guided  by  the  angel 
visitors  to  earth,  and  that  they  are  often  messengers 
of  those  who  have  gone  before  us.  This  may  be  a 
picture  of  the  imagination,  but  1  believe  it  is  so. 
Therefore,  should  Death  call  for  a  fri(Mid  of  mine,  I 
should  not  think  I  had  lost  thoir  love  after  that  sepa- 
tion.  You  may  think  I  have  strange  views  upon  the 
subject,  and  speak  in  rather  a  singular  manner  of 
death  and  cttrnihj ;  but,  to  tell  you  plainly,  my  dear 
friend,  I  have  not  the  fears  of  either  which  I  once 
had.  Formerly  I  could  not  endure  the  thought  that 
I  must  leave  this  earthly  home ;  but  I  feel  diflerent- 
ly  now.  I  do  not  wish  you  to  think  I  have  been  under 
the  influence  of  Methodism  or  Presbyterianisra — that 
I  have  been  to  rerital  preaching,  or  any  thing  of  the 
kind.  I  am  juj»t  as  far  from  any  of  those  things  as 
can  be  imagined.  I  do  not  say  1  am  any  better  than 
I  ever  was;  but  I  do  know  I  am  much  happier  and 
better  contented  with  my  lot,  whatever  it  may  be. 
I  am  sixteen  to-day :  venerable  person !  am  I 
not?  "Sweet  sixteen"  that  poets  sing  so  much  of; 
thy  charms,  thy  joys  are  but  too  soon  gone.  "  Pass- 
ing away,"'  like  ail  of  earth  !  Childood  has  gone,  and 
with  it  many  of  my  most  joyous  and  happy  days.  I 
would  fain  call  them  back.  Alas  !  they  are  gone, 
and  the  present  is  passing  too  swiftly  away.  But 
why  repine  while  Hope,  blessed  messenger  !  whispers 

of  better  times,  and  fills  my  soul  with  peace? 

Not  long  after  the  foregoing  was  written,  Debbie 
and  Helen  visited  friends  in  Higligate  and  Burlington, 
and  after  their  return  to  Fairfield  they  attended 
school  there  together.    April  23d,  1854,  Debbie  writes 

from  Fairfield  : "  I  am  attending  school,  and 

enjoying  myself  very  well.     I  often  wish  to  see  you, 
my  true  friend,  and  very  often  speak  of  you  as  such — 


36 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


+ 


I  ill 


ao  often,  tliat  T  nm  rtocnsod  of  tliinkiiifif  of  llttlo  else 
but  my  convent  lionic  and  its  inmates 

A  little  in<jre  than  a  nionth  later  we  liavc  the  fol- 
lowing, in  a  letter  to  the  same  friend:  "Fairlicld, 
Sunday  cveninf^.  May  5^8,  1851 It  is  a  love- 
ly niglit — calm  and  serene  as  a  summer  evening.  A 
cool,  refreshing  shower  has  added  new  beauties  to  na- 
ture, and  only  a  slight  breeze,  which  I  can  imagine 
is  like  the  boating  of  angels'  wings  around  us,  dis- 
turbs the  air.  Vet,  afar  off  1  hear  the  murmuring  of 
a  rivulet,  and  the  hum  of  children's  voices  in  their 
youthful  sports.  It  is  truly  an  hour  I  love.  Afar  ! 
afar!  methinks  1  hear  the  low  chimes  of  convent 
bells,  as  they  sound  the  hour  at  which  we  were  wont 
to  retire  ;  and  imaginations  which  arc  now  vividly 
cherished  by  me  bid  my  eyes  gaze  upon  a  scene  of 
uncommon  interest — a  number  of  young  girls  ascend- 
ing steps  which  lead  to  a  little  chapel,  unassuming  in 
its  appearance,  but  whose  precincts  arc  hallowed  be- 
yond description.  They  enter  there,  and  every  knee 
is  bent,  every  head  is  bow'cd,  and  all  pride,  envy,  ha- 
tred and  jealousy  are  (or  should  be)  buried A 

pale  lamp  burns  steadily  before  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment of  the  Altar,  shedding  its  rays  upon  the  sacred 
walls,  and  reminding  each  soul  which  there  presents 
itself  of  the  bright  light  of  failh  which  should  reign 
in  our  hearts,  J'raycrs  from  the  lips  of  youth,  blessed 
beyond  the  reach  of  a  doubt  by  I'aith,  ascend  to  the 
throne  of  the  Most  W\\A\  God.  And  the  sweet  Ves- 
per  Hymn  to  the  I)les??<.^d  Ilother  of  Christ  rises  upon 
the  evening  silence,  with  oit-repeated  i)etitions  for  her 
intercession.  And  th-j  ;/low,  measured  steps  of  those 
children,  as  they  leave  this  })lacc  of  prayer,  show  with 
what  reverence  they  regai'd  the  sacred  spot.  Yes  ! 
my  dear  ''j'antc,  I  often,  vci-y  often ^  let  my  imagina- 
tion rove  to  those  scenes.  Lo  you,  can  you  think  I 
have  forgotten  them?  They  remain  in  my  heart, 
sealed  in  the  casket  of  memory,  and  I  look  back  upon 
those  days  as  some  of  the  happiest  of  my  life. 

"^Helen  has  been  very  sick  with  inflammation  of 
t-hc  stomach  and  bowels.     She  never  was  so  ill  in  her 


y 


"^ 


THE    VUUNU   CONVEllTS. 


87 


ittlo  else 

the  fol- 
'aiificld, 

a  love- 
ing.  A 
38  to  na- 
imagino 

us,  (lis- 
iiiiig  of 
in  their 

Afar  ! 
convent 
re  wont 

vividly 
iccne  of 
ascend- 
ming  in 
ved  bc- 
ry  knee 
ivy,  ha- 
. . .  A 
I  ►Sacra - 

sacred 
)resents 
d  reign 
blessed 

to  the 
ct  Ves- 
3s  upon 

for  her 
)f  those 
)w  with 

Yes! 
nagina- 
thiuk  I 
'■  heart, 
k  upon 

;ion  of 
\  in  her 


life  bofi>ro,  and  slio  is  now  very  misorablo.  Tier 
strongih  left  her  entirely — so  much  so  that  she  had  to 
bo  taken  the  same  care  of  that  a  child  wouM.  I  have 
been  conlined  to  the  sick  room  so  long,  that  1  have 
written  no  letters  t<  any  one.  You  will  excuse  my 
long  silence,  will  you  not  ?  I  am  not  un- 
grateful ;  no,  I  am  not !  Accuse  me  of  anything  else, 
but  not  of  that !  I  lovo  the  nuns,  and  shall  ever  re- 
member  their  kindness  to  me.     'J'hey  may  think   I 

liavc    forgotten     long    ere  this Sonic   one 

has  been  in  my  room  to-day  to  see  Helen,  and  yon 
never  heard  so  much  fun  as  was  made  of  me  (after- 
wards) about  a  table  in  my  room  on  which  was  a  cross^ 
my  two  Cuti-  Mc  prayer  bocks,  my  chaplet,  a  picture 
of  ail  Angel  (.jJuaruian,  ari  iniago  Ki'i  the  Blessed  A'ir- 
gin,  a  picture  of  St.  Joseph,  and  another  of  the  Bles- 
sed Vir/in  and  Infant  Jesus — all  the  pictures  given 
mc  in  the  convent,  and  two  vases  of  ilowers  that  I 
liad  gathered  from  the  garden  to  ornament  the  table. 
My  books  were  examined,  etc.,  etc.,  comments  made 
upon  this  and  that,  and  I  let  them  proceed.  I  told 
them  these  things  put  me  in  mind  of  the  convent, 
and  I  loved  to  look  at  them.  They  thought  I  had 
better  go  up  and  unite  with  the  '  Itomish  Church.^  I 
told  them  I  did  not  know  but  I  should  unite  with  the 
Catholic  Church:' 

Again,  from  a  letter  dated  Fairfield,  June,  1854,  I 
extract  a  portion:  "  Oh,  ma  Tantc  !  it  is  a  happy 
thought  to  think  that  1  am  cared  for,  prayed  for,  by 
you  !  and  now,  in  the  silent  loneliness  of  my  own 
room,  I  look  back  upon  the  past,  and  recall  your  kind 
look,  your  approving  glance,  and  wish  I  could  once 
more  behold  them  !  Here,  alone  by  my  couch,  I  ask 
Ciod  to  bless  your  life,  to  add  new  joys  to  your  heart, 
quicken  you  by  His  Divine  I'resence,  and  receive  you 
in  His  eternal  home  at  last,  where,  amid  an  angel 
band  (and  pure  as  they)  I  sometimes  imagine  I  see 
you  now.  Would  that  I  could  think  /  should  meet 
the  good  and  the  just  there — should  see  their  robes 
washed  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb,  and  stand 
among  them  !     Heaven  seems  to  mo  such  a  Home  ! 


w 


38 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


i  :. 


f 

i   M 


M 


prepared  b/  Ilim,  that  I  long  sometimes  to  see  its  glo- 
ries ;  but  as  1  listen  to  my  feelings  a  voice  asks  me, 
'  Arc  you  prepared  to  die  V     If  I  were  prepared,  I 

would  go   willingly Fairfield,    June  25th, 

1854 I  think  of  you  often  and  often,  and  shall 

be  under  obligations  while  life  lasts,  and  perhaps  in 

eternity I  am  assailed  on  all  sides  by  those 

who  think  I  am  willing  to  become  less  ignorant  than  I 
form.erly  was.  I  am  ridiculed  ;  yes,  more  than  that  ! 
But  my  God  knows  I  will  not  yield,  with  His  help — 
His  grace  !  I  am  here,  and  must  now  conform  to 
many  things  which  I  fain  would  not ;  but  I  will 
satisfy  them.  I  will  peruse  their  blasphemous  writ- 
ings, and  if  I  can  find  any  thing  pure  I  will  subtract 
it  from  the  impure.  I  will  give  them  their  due.  I  will 
know  the  faith  of  all ;  indeed  I  do  know  much  now, 
and  I  find  nothing  congenial  to  my  feelings  but  the 
One  True  Faith  !  To-day  I  went  to  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  and  when  I  had  heard  the  sermon  about  half 
through,  lo  !  Popery  must  take  a  thump  !  He  said  it 
was  nothing  but  Paganism  with  another  name  ! — that 
the  Catholics  had  no  light  from  Heaven  !  no  lights  of 
Revelation ! — that  the  heads  of  that .  Church  were 
among  the  most  licentious  of  earth  ! — and,  finally,  that 
on  the  very  face  of  the  Church  were  marked  those 
words,  (which  St.  John  applied  to  Pagan  Rome) — 
I  will  not  repeat  them ;  read  for  yourself,  ma  Taute, 
the  17th  chapter,  5th  verse  of  Eevelations  !  I  listen- 
ed; I  grew  dizzy  and  blind !  but  took  my  shawl  and 
walked  out  of  the  church.  I  was  obliged  to  sit  in 
the  porch  until  I  grew  composed,  and  then  came 
home.  Some  one  asked  my  mother  why  I  came  out 
of  the  church  ?  and  she  told  them,  '  Dehlie  would  not 
hear  the  Catholic  Church  talked  about  in  that  way,, 
and  so  she  came  home.'  I  suppose  the  whole  town 
will  be  up  in  arms  about  it !  I  do  not  know  but  they 
will  moh  me.  '  Ha  !   ha  ! 

"  This  morning  in  St.  Albans, (where  I  went  to  at- 
tend church,)  at  the  administration  of  the  Blessed  Sa- 
crament, the  rail  around  the  chancel  at  the  grand 
altar  was  filled  with  Americans,  who  have  been  con- 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


39 


verted  to  the  Catholic  faith  within  the  Last  few  years, 
and  they  all  reside  there,  with  the  exception  of  a  fam- 
ily from  Philapelphia,  and  two  or  three  from  an  ad- 
joining town." 

A  very  dear  friend  and  convent  companion  of  the 
sisters,  who  embraced  the  Catholic  faith  when  quite 
young — previous  to  her  acquaintance  with  them — and 
who  afterwards  came,  at  Debbie's  request,  to  remain 
with  her  during  her  last  sickness,  has  furnished  me 
with  a  number  of  letters,  of  which  the  following  bears 
the  earliest  date.  It  is  addressed  to  the  young  lady 
at  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  Albany,  N.  Y., 
where  she  completed  her  education. 

"Fairfield,  Vt.,  Oct.  18th,  1854.  Many,  very 
many  thanks,  my  much  loved  Carrie,  for  your  long, 
kind  letter  of  the  13th  inst.  You  little  know  how 
precious  it  was  to  me,  coming,  as  it  did,  from  one 
with  whom  I  had  spent  so  many  happy  hours.  I  have 
read  it,  and  dwelt  upon  each  sentence  ;  praying  that 
your  wishes  might  be  fulfilled,  and  my  own  desires 
with  regard  to  that  one  subject  might  be  answered. 

"  Oh  C !  I  long  to  see  you  and  converse  upon 

the  past.  How  often  1  wish  we  might  again  be  unit- 
ed in  that  sacred  place,  and  offer  our  prayers  upon  the 
same  shrine  once  more.  But,  though  separated,  let 
us  still  invoke  the  same  Protecting  Power,  and  the 
same  intercessions.  I  will  never  forget  your  kind  ad- 
vice, C ,  and   hope  I  never   have  for  a  moment 

yielded  to  doubt  as  regard !  onr  holy  faith.  Though 
many  are  tho  trials  which  every  one  must  pass 
through,  I  thank  God  that  He  has  sustained  me  thus 
far.  His  precious  promises  come  up  before  me  when 
my  mind  desponds,  and  raise  my  faltering  spirit  above 
the  things  T  time.  I  rely  upon  His  word  for  my 
hope.  Anu,  my  dearest  C ,  when  I  think  of  Je- 
sus and  the  Cross^  how  can  I  refuse  to  live  in  tho 
Faith  He  established  here,  and  calls  upon  me  to  •(■v - 
and  profess  ?  No  !  my  friend,  I  trust  this  will  never 
be  my  coui^e.  \ 

"  The  news  from  the  convent  interested  me  very 
much.     I  think  I  shall  write  to  them  soon,     feiill  I  do 


>  i 


40 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


f     ' 


...1 

.   1 

1 

•• 

I'  , 

1; 
I' 
'     1 

'r    1 

li      ^ 

!  ; 
! 

i 
I 

ill 

i! 

ii 

I 

i 

i 

'■■\ 
■t 

1 
li 

V 

rot  know.  Give  my  love  to  all  when  yon  write,  and 
say  whatever  else  you  please  about  me.  They  doubt- 
less think  that  I  am  negligent  and  forgetful ;    but, 

C ,  I  am  not !     E H.  passed  three  weeks  here 

last  winter,  and  from  her  I  hear  occasionally  from  the 
convent.     Helen  corresponds  with  her. 

"  You  find  your  present  home  very  pleasant,  I  should 
judge  from  your  letter.  I  almost  wish  myself  there 
with  you.  I  imagine  I  should  like  it  vcy  much. 
Do  write  me  some  of  the  rules,  regulations,  &c.  You 
say  you  meet  some  of  our  old  friends  sometimes. 
Give  my  love  to  Mary  C.  and  Maria  M.  I  have  often 
thought  of  them  since  our  parting,  and  can  recall 
scenes  in  which  they  were  actors,  as  vividly  as  if  they 
were  of  yesterday.  Though  some  of  the  memories  of 
the  past  are  shaded  by  sorrow,  I  can  look  back  and 
dwell  upon  those  scenes  as  the  brightest  spots  in  my 
existence 

And  now,  my  dear  C ,  when  are  you  coming 

home  ?  When  you  do,  you  must  come  to  see  me  ;  re- 
member this.  My  constant  desire  is  that  we  may 
meet  again,  and  renew  the  friendship  so  happily  be- 
gun.    Adieu  !   and  believe  me  your  very  true  friend, 

"  Debbie." 

In  Nov.,  1854,  the   following  was  written  to  her 

*'  best  friend,"  at  Yamachiche  :   "  Your  dear, 

kind  letter,  ma  Tante,  was  received  last  night,  and  I 
would  fain  express  to  you  my  thanks  for  your  kind- 
ness in  writing  to  me  again.  My  reasons  for  not  an- 
swering your  former  one  were,  that  I  was  forbidden 
that  pleasure.  I  will  be  plain  in  speaking  to  you,  my 
friend,  (for  I  consider  you  as  such)  my  trials  I  believe 
increase,  for  I  am  plain  in  telling  them  that  I  shall 
unite  with  the  Church  which  I  consider  as  right.  I 
have  been  debarred  the  pleasure  of  going  to  Mass  un- 
til the  last  two  months,  when  I  told  them  I  would 
never  step  inside  a  Protestant  Church,  (excuse  me,  I 
mean  meeting -lionse^)  if  they  did  not  allow  me  to  go ; 
but  they  would  not  let  me,  and  I  then  sat,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  by  my  window  and  looked  at  the  Cath- 
olic chapel,  while  the  Blessed  Sacrifice  of   the  Mai^s 


THE   YOUNG  CONVERTS. 


41 


ite,  and 
y  cloubt- 
il ;  but, 
eks  here 
Vom  tlie 

I  should 
If  there 

much. 
You 
letimes. 
ve  often 

recall 
1  if  they 
Dries  of 
ick  and 
3  in  my 

coming 
tne ;  re- 
76  may 
pily  be- 
friend, 

BIE." 

to  her 
r  dear, 
,  and  I 
r  kind- 
lot  an- 
rhidden 
ou,my 
believe 
I  shall 
^ht.  I 
iss  un- 
would 
;  me,  I 
to  go ; 
kinday 
Ca+h- 
5  >^.ass 


was  offered  up.  Finally  they  told  me  to  go  if  I  wish- 
ed to,  and  I  went.  After  that  the  Catholics  were 
ridiculed  by  my  acquaintances  more  and  more,  and 
the  next  Sunday  there  was  Mass  they  would  not  let 
me  go.  I  then  made  this  agreement :  I  told  them  if 
they  would  let  me  go  to  Mass  once  a  fortnight,  that 
is  as  o/ten  as  it  is  here,  I  would  go  to  Protestant 
meetings  the  remainder  of  the  time,  until  I  joined  the 
Churcl).  This  suited  pretty  well,  and,  with  a  good 
deal  of  ridicule,  they  allow  me  to  go.  Last  Sunday 
the  Bishop  of  Burlington  and  two  priests,  beside  our 
priest  that  prea'^hes  here,  came  to  Fairfield  and  staid 
.4i'.til  Tuesday  noon.  I  went  to  Mass  on  Sunday 
i  TTiing.  Mr.  McGowan,  our  priest,  came  and  spoke 
to  inc,  and  asked  if  I  would  like  an  introduction  to 
the  Bishop.  I  told  him  I  would.  He  said,  after  Mass 
he  would  introduce  me  to  him.  Mother  was  with  me, 
and  she  said  so  much  against  it  after  Mr.  McGowan 
left,  that  I  would  not  stay  to  see  the  Bishop,  but  I 
sent  word  to  Father  McGowan  that  he  could  deduce 
his  own  inference  from  my  not  going.  I  formed  some 
acquaintance  with  him  about  a  year  ago,  and  he  has 
heard  something  from  a  lady  in  this  place  about  the 
opposition  I  met  with.  I  have  never  conversed  with 
him  at  all.  Monday  morning  I  went  to  two  Masses 
and  heaid  a  iormon.  1  was  alone;  our  family  did  not 
go;  to  1  *'~urid  my  waj  to  the  vestry,  and  saw  the 
BislM)p  Fn's  name  is  DeGocsbriand.  He  told  me  he 
saw  the  ."•'  Istc/s  of  the  Congregation  a  short  time  ago, 
and  tluit  1:  '  ^.  spoke  of  me  to  him.  He  talked  with  mo 
some,  and  1  like  him  very  much.  Tuesday  1  went  to 
Mass  and  heard  a  sermon.  My  God  hiows  hoiv  I  en- 
joyed  myself !  To-day  there  is  no  Catholic  service, 
and  I  have  been  to  a  Protestant  meeting.  Ma  Tante, 
it  is  a  real  penci nee,  I  assure  you  !  next  Sunday  I  long 
for:  then  there  is  Mass  again  !  The  whole  town  are 
g!  '■  'C  me  up  as  one  blinded  by  errors,  they  say.  Poor 
pcof'i  tluy  know  not  that  within  my  heart,  amid 
all  my  trials,  there  reigns  a  peace  which  the  world  can 
never  give  !  They  know  not  that  the  Arm  of  the  Al- 
miyhty  sustains  mc  !   They  know  not  that  my  prayers 


w 


42 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


'1 

r 

1 

\'  III 

1    .   .'ill 

Li.       _ 

are  constantly  offered  up  to  the  Throne  of  the  Most 
High  for  tJm'r  good  !  When  I  tell  them  that  my  con- 
stant prayer  is  to  have  my  faith  increased, they  tell  me 
I  can  never  find  faith  in  the  Catholic  Church  !  Oh  ! 
then,  where  can  1  find  it  if  not  there  ?  No  where!  Oh 
give  me  faith^  faith  which,  like  a  rock  afar  off  in  the 
distant  seas,  though  the  waves  and  storms  of  life  beat 
forever  against  it,  shall  still  be  immovable  !  I  do  not 
wish  to  murmur  ;  no  !  far  from  it,  my  trials  will  not 
compare  with  what  others  have  suffered,  and  do  suf- 
fer, for  the  s.:  -.t:  T  am  not  right,  perhaps,  even  to 
mention  them.  .'m  not,  may  Heaven  forgive  me  ! 

I  have,  perhaps,  •  the  esteem  of  some  by  my  ad- 
herence to  Catholic  principles ;  if  so  I  cannot  help 
it.  I  trust  that  you  always  pray  for  me.  Eemem- 
ber  me  always,  for  I  would  ever  live  in  the  mem- 
ory of  those  who  led  me  to  the  truth.  I  often  think 
of  my  convent  home  :  it  is  still  very  dear  to  me,  but 
I  fear  I  shall  never  return  to  it  as  a  school-girh  I 
may  visit  it.  Oh  !  how  I  long  for  the  tim'e  to  come 
when  once  more  I  shall  behold  its  peaceful  walls  1 
and  if  I  live  I  shall,  for  I  mean  to  visit  Montreal  some 
time.     Give  my  love  to  all,  and  tell  them  to  pray  for 

"  Debbie." 

The  following  fragment,  without  date,  but  written 
during  the  same  month  of  November,  was  enclosed  in 
a  letter  to  her  Protestant  friend  at  Burlington,  as  a 
strictly  private  communication : 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  stih  continue  in  my  strong  ad- 
herence to  Catholic  principles.      You  may  think  it 

strange,  but,  L ,  every  day  brings  me  some  con- 

vlncin(j  proof  of  the  truth  of  that  Faith.  I  am  not  pre- 
judiced. I  read  every  thing  on  both  sides ;  I  con- 
verse with  all,  and  yet  I  am  more  and  more  convinc- 
ed that  I  am  right. 

"  I  go  to  the  Catholic  Church  once  a  fortnight, 
and  the  rest  of  the  time  to  meeting,  and  every  time  I 
enter  a  Catholic  Church  I  love  it  more,  and  its  Di- 
vine ordinances ;  and  every  time  I  hear  a  Protestant 
sermon,  I  dislike  them  more  and  more.  I  do  not 
know,  bat  I  suspect  there  is  some  "  dangev  of  my  be- 


I 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


43 


the  Most 
''  my  con- 
!y  tell  me 
^/     Oh! 
ere/   Oh 
ff  in  the 
life  beat 
I  do  not 
will  not 

do  suf- 
even  to 
:ive  nie ! 

my  ad- 
lot  help 
ieinem- 
e  mem- 
n  think 
ne,  but 

rl.     I 

0  come 
walls  I 

d  some 
rav  for 

3IE." 

tvritten 
:)sed  in 
1,  as  a 

ig  ad- 
ink  it 
e  con- 
oi  pre- 
[  con- 

1  vine- 
light, 
me  I 
sDi- 
stant 

>  not 
y  be- 


ing a  Catholic."  Shall  I  lose  your  friendship  ?  By 
doing  so  shall  I  forfeit  your  respect  ?  I  hope  not; 
thongh  I  shall  some  of  my  friends,  I  know.  But  I  love 
my  God  and  Saviour  heifer,  far  letter,  than  all  the 
earth,  or  my  friends.  You  may  be  surprised  to  hear 
this.  You  never  knew  me  to  speak  thus,  did  you, 
my  darling  friend?  T.ut  it  is  even  so,  and  if  Ho  calls 

me  to  imite  with  His  Church,  I  must 

"  Fairfield,  Dec,  17,  1854. — Pardon  me,  I  pray, 
my  beloved  Tante,  for  not  answering  your  letter  soon- 
er. I  should  have  done  so,  but  I  have  not  been  very 
well,  and  for  some  other  reasons,  perhaps  too  trifling  io 
mention.  I  was  pleased  to  hear  from  you,  and  I  know 
your  prayers  are  ever  raised  for  me  to  the  Throne  of 
tlie  Most  High.  The  pure  truths  you  speak  in  your 
letters,  endear  them  much  to  me.  To-day  has  prov- 
ed to  me  again,  that  my  prayers  should  be  strong  and 
fervent.  I  have  been  to  Mass,  and  oh  !  how  my  soul 
longed  to  join  the  few  who  knelt  and  received  the 
Body  and  Blood  of  Jesus  Christ !  Oh  !  the  presence 
of  Jesus  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament ! — how  glorious, 
how  consoling  the  thought !  Who,  ivho  can  doubt 
it,  ma  Tante,  if  they  knew  the  happiness  of  one  who 
believes  in  the  Real  Presence,  how  they  w^ould  sigh 
for  that  Faith  !  Do  you  not  think  so  ?  My  kind 
friend,  you  ask  me  if  I  wear  the  medal.  Yes,  I  do  ; 
and  I  forget  not  my  Mother,  if  so  I  may  call  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  I  presume  I  am  sometimes  heedless, 
and  forget  my  duty,  but  I  trust  my  God  forgets  me 
not.  How  thankful  I  should  be  that  He  has  given 
me  the  grace  to  see  the  true  ivay:  I  was  reading  to- 
night in  my  prayer-book,  this  passage :  "  Where 
much  is  given,  much  will  be  required."  Then  how 
much  will  Almighty  God  require  of  me  !  I  have  been 
blessed  !  oh,  how  much ;  and  my  life  ought  to  be 
spent  better  than  I  now  spend  it I  still  at- 
tend Mass  when  it  is  celebrated  here,  though  some- 
times with  trouble,  for  my  friends  oppose  me  as  much 
as  ever.  I  try  to  follow  all  the  rules  of  the  Catholic 
faith  as  well  as  I  can,  but  here  I  have  no  friend  to  ad- 
vise me,  none  to  consult  with,  and  I  have  no  reading- 


ii 


■^if! 


44 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


Ill 


:M 


M 


!    'Ii! 


11. 


-  (   I 


i ' 


matter ;  that  is  no  hooh  and  papers.  Protestants  put 
plenty  of  their  books  into  my  hand,  and  I  read  tliem 
all.  A  short  time  since  a  lady  visited  our  house,  wlio 
is  the  wife  of  a  I'resbyterian  clergyman.  In  the 
course  of  the  conversation,  the  '  Romish  Church'  was 
called  up,  and  she  remarked  in  this  manner:  'Well, 
I  believe  if  there  is  a  bottomless  pit  in  the  future  world, 

the  Catliolic priests  will  go  there!'     'Mrs. '  said  I, 

'  it  is  not  for  you  to  judge  where  they  will  go.'  From 
this  a  conversation  commenced  in  which  she  told  me 
that  Catholics  believed  their  priests  infallihle  ;  that  for 
money  they  could  get  their  sins  pardoned  hy  a  priest ! 
That  tlie  Catholic  Church  had  destroyed  the  second 
commandment  of  God^  and  worshiped  images  !  !  and  that 
they  ga^'e  more  honor  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  than  to 
God!  !  !  L»y  rtic  way,  she  considered  'the  Mother  of 
Christ  as  a  very  good  sort  of  a  woman,  but  no  better 
than  anj'^  other  Christian !'  These  are  her  precise 
words,  and  I  could  not  convince  her  that  Catholics  did 
not  believe  the  first  of  her  remarks!  She  knew  letter 
than  I  did,  of  course  !  I  asked  her  if  she  ever  read 
any  Catholic  be  -ks.  '  No,  and  she  never  wished  to !' 
(Of  course  I  thought  her  particularly  well  qualified  to 
give  reliable  information  on  the  subject  after  that  ad- 
mission.) Among  other  things,  she  said  that  con- 
vents were  horrid  places,  and  nuns  awful  creatures  !  I 
have  told  you  this  as  an  example  of  my  daily  confabs.'''' 
About  two  months  after  the  date  of  this  letter,her  pa- 
rents decided  to  send  her  and  her  sister  Helen  to  Fair- 
fax, a  village  a  few  miles  from  Faiffield,  where  there 
is  a  flourishing  institution  under  the  direction  of  the 
Baptist  sect.  They  chose  this  place,  both  on  account 
of  its  convenience  of  access  for  themselves,  that  they 
might  see  their  daughters  frequently,  and  doubtless 
because  they  also  hoped  that  the  close  attention  to 
study  there  required,  and  an  entire  separation  from  ill 
Catholic  influences  and  associations,  might  divert  the 
mind  of  Debbie  from  the  contemplation  of  religious 
subjects.  8oon  after  they  went  there,  she  wrote  the 
same  friend  at  Yamachiche,  to  whom  most  of  her 
letters  to  the  convent  are  addressed : 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


45 


tants  put 
ead  thorn 
oiise,  wlio 
In  the 
nrcli'  was 
'  Well, 
ire  world, 
-'  said  I, 
From 

told  me 

that  for 
a  priest ! 
le  second 
and  that 

than  to 
other  of 
10  better 

precise 
olics  did 
'w  letter 
'er  read 
ihed  to!' 
2lijied  to 
that  ad- 
lat  con- 
res !     I 
mifdhsy 
•,her  pa- 
to  Fair- 
re  there 
I  of  the 
iccoiint 
at  they 
'ubtless 
tion  to 
rom  iJl 
ert  tlie 
ligious 
3te  the 
of  her 


"Fairfax,  March,  1855 I  thank  you  very 

much  for  the  beautiful  little  picture  you  scut,  and  I 
assure  you  I  sliuU  treasure  it  with  much  care.  It  is 
decidedly  lovely.  The  face  of  the  Infant  Jesus  is  so 
sweet,  and  that  of  our  Holy  Mother.  Oh  !  why  is  it 
that  such  pictures  inspire  us  with  greater  love  for  the 
originals  ?  Do  you  know,  ma  Tante  ?  I  know  it  is 
so.  I  must  tell  you  how  much  my  pictures  are  ad- 
mired. I  look  them  over  very  often,  and  I  am  often 
ro(piested  to  show  them.  I  explain  the  design  as  well 
as  I  can  to  them,  and  they  frequently  exclaim,  '  How 
beautiful!  how  lovely!'  I  generally  tell  them  truly 
that  this  is  only  the  commencement^  only  the  first  step, 
or  one  of  the  least  of  the  beauties  of  Catholicity.  I 
am  here  in  Fairfax  attending  school.  I  did  intend  to 
go  to  Burlington,  but  ray  parents  preferred  to  have 
nie  here,  so  here  I  am.  No  Catholic  Churcli;  no 
Catholics.  The  school  is  large,  and  a  very  good  one, 
I  should  judge.  Most  of  the  people  of  this  place  hate 
the  Catholics  bitterly,  and  have  venj  strange  ideas 
concerning  them.  Almost  every  one  had  heard  be- 
fore  I  came  here,  that  I  was,  in  sentiment,  a  Roman 
Catholic.  I  said  nothing,  but  the  iirst  morning  that 
I  went  into  the  school  I  had  about  my  neck  my  cross 
and  medal.  After  I  came  away  and  reached  my 
boarding-place,  a  young  lady  told  me  that  she  hoard 
it  remarked  by  several  that  the  eldest  Miss  Barlow 
was  a  Catholic.  '  Is  it  so  ?'  said  she.  '  I  believe  ic  ih,' 
said  I,  and  no  more  was  said.  I  suspect  I  am  an  ob- 
ject of  pity  among  them  all.  My  sentiments  arc  the 
same  that  they  were  when  I  left  the  convent.  I  find 
no  Church  as  yet  whose  precepts  and  faith  I  lovie 
as  I  do  the  Catholic.  I  am  sure  that  I  have  chance 
enough  to  find  the  true  faith  if  it  is  to  be  found 
among  the  Protestant  churches;  but  I  find  it  not 
there.  I  still  love  the  faith  professed  in  my  convent 
home.  It  is  still  dear  to  me,  and  it  is  not  because  I 
have  constant  intercourse  with  Catholics,  or  have  their 
books  to  read.  I  sec  but  very  little  of  edticatod,  in- 
telligent Catholics.  I  have  never  seen  any  priest, 
with  the  exception  of  Father  McGovvan  twice,  and  the 


1  .>.! 


46 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


,1 
■  i 


it 


'f 


:if* 


Bishop  of  Burlington  once.  I  have  no  books  except 
those  two  you  gave  me,  and  one  of  them  a  young  la- 
dy from  Burlington  has  borrowed.  You  perceive  I 
have  not  much  to  guide  me;  no,  nothing  but  the 
Ifand  of  God  alone.  Oh  !  I  pray  that  I  may  not  go 
astray  from  the  path  of  right !  May  my  steps  be 
guided  in  the  only  true  and  pure  religion.  Every  one 
opposes  me  as  much  as  ever.  My  father  I  care  for 
most  of  all.  He  worships  me,  I  know.  Every  one 
says  he  loves  me  better  than  any  of  liis  other  children. 
*  *  I  am  harrassed  to  death  by  people  talking 
against  the  Church  and  against  me ;  but  I  do  not 
care.  I  must  believe  what  God  has  directed  me  to.  It 
is  a  hard  hill  which  I  am  striving  to  ascend,  but  I 
hope  that  I  may  not  faint  until  the  summit  is  gained. 
Sometimes  I  think  a  strong  arm  is  thrown  around  me, 
and  then  iieiv  strength  is  added  to  my  weariness,  and  a 
hand  seems  pointing  to  the  Cross  and  urging  me  on- 
ivard.  And  often  times  T  almost  imagine  that  a  sweet 
voice  whispers  :  '  Mij  child  I  iv ill  pray  for  thee  P  and 
my  petition  is,  '  Sweet  Mother,  pray  for  thy  feeble 
but  trusting  child.'  With  our  Heavenly  Father's 
care^  the  love  of  Jesus.,  and  the  prayers  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  can  I,  oh,  can  I  wander  from  the  truth  ?  I 
have  told  you  plainly  my  feelings,  and  if  they  change^ 
you  shall  know  it.  There  is  a  young  lady  going  from 
this  place  to  the  convent  in  Montreal  in  about  three 
weeks,  and  there  has  one  gone.  Every  one  is  won- 
derfully concerned  about  them."    

In  her  next,  written  during  the  same  month,  and 
from  the  same  place,  the  following  passages  occur : 

"  Let  me  tell  you  my  friend,  distinctly — I  want 
you  to  understand  me  fully — I  am  a  Catholic,  firm 
and  unyielding.  I  believe  it  is  the  only  true  Churchy 
and  the  only  one  with  which  I  shall  ever  unite  my- 
self. You  ask  me  what  I  "  intend  to  do  ?"  I  am  as* 
sailed  by  every  one.  In  fact,  I  do  not  have  one  mo- 
ments peace  any  wliere.  My  parents  are  bitterly  op- 
posed to  the  Catholics But  Heaven  help  me 

I  will  he  firm I  shall  be  more  a  Catholic  when 

I  leave  this  school  than  ever   before Thave 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


47 


not  tokl  you  much  about  the  school,  have  I  ?  I  will 
say  a  few  words  before  I  close  my  letter.  It  is  a 
Protestant  school,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  and  wo 
are  obliged  to  attend  prayers  and  go  to  their  church, 
etc.  Last  Sunday,  I  heard  a  sermon  which  was 
strong  against  *  Jiomim'sts,^  as  they  term  us.  '^rho 
sum  and  amount  of  it  was,  that  the  Catholic  Church 
taught  salvation  by  tvorh,  and  7iot  by  faith.  I  smiled 
at  their  ignorance,  and  gave  it  no  further  thought." 

The  next  letter  was  written  from  Fairfax  in  April, 
about  two  weeks  before  the  close  of  the  spring  term 
of  the  school.  She  doubted  whether  she  should  re- 
turn for  the  next  term,  though  Helen  probably  would. 
Her  mother  was  contemplating  a  visit  to  her  friends 
in  the  western  country,  and  she  might  be  needed  at 
home  during  the  absence  of  her  mother.  She  speaks 
in  the  most  moving:  terms  of  her  strong  desire  to  visit 
Montreal  after  the  return  of  her  mother,  but  did  not 
dare  indulge  the  hope  that  her  wish  would  be  grant? 
ed,  and  adds  : 

"  I  am  really  feeling  bad  enough  these  days  :  ev- 
erything looks  dark.  My  friends  all  against  me,  and 
God  alone  my  refuge  !  Why,  ma  Tante  !  look  at  that 
last  sentence  again  !  T  did  not  ynean  to  write  it  just 
so.  I  ought  to  be  satisjied  with  a  kind  friend  in  Heav- 
en for  my  refuge.  You  understand  me,  do  you  not  ? 
But  I  know  that  in  becoming  a  Catholic  I  lose  many 
who  have  been  warm  friends  of  mine.  This  I  do  not 
care  for ;  1  gain  far  more  than  I  lose.  But  I  some- 
times feel  very  sad  that  my  parents  are   so  opposed. 

It  seems  hard I  wish  they  would  read,  but  no, 

they  will  not;  but  they  wish  me  to,  every  Protestant 
work  that  I  can  find,  and  I  read  everytliing  in  the 
shape  of  argument,  that  I  could  get  hold  of  against  the 
Catholics,  but  my  heart  is  just  as  much  there  as  ever ; 
it  can  be  wo  ivhere  else.  '  Catholic  I  am.  Catholic  I 
must  be  !'  These  are  the  words  I  addressed  to  a 
Protestant  lady  in  this  j)lace,  some  time  since.  I  am 
going  to  have  some  books  soon.  I  had  a  letter  from 
—  a  few  weeks  since.     She  is  in  Albanv,  at 


o 


Caro.  (t — 

the  convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 


Slic  seemed 


48 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


t 
,! 


It 


•'  ti 


;ii 


:|^-:.|l     ;l 


to  recall  the  associations  connected  with  our  bright 
(lays  in  Montreal,  with  much  pleasure.  I  was  rejoic 
ed  to  hear  from  ma  Tante,  in  Montreal,  that  I  had 
been  received  into  the  society  of  the  Children  of  Mary 
at  the  convent.  Oh,  how  often  I  wish  to  be  there,  if 
only  for  one  hour,  if  not  more  !  I  have  yet  to  find  a 
place  I  love  so  well.  Kvery  eveninj:^  my  thoughts 
are  with  the  dear  inmates  as  they  go  to  their  beloved 
chapel,  and  before  Him  who  is  there  present,  ray  soul 
bows  down  as  in  days  gone  by,  and  lingers  to  tell  its 
sorrows  and  its  trials  to  that  dear  Saviour." 

About  a  week  later,  she  wrote  to  another  lady  of 
the  congregation  who  wars  deeply  interested  in  her. 
The  following  is  a  portion  of  that  letter  : 

"  Fairfax,  April  20, 1855 Would  that  I 

could  follow  the  example  of  our  sweet  Mother  in  all 
things  !  and  I  promise  you  to  imitate  her  virtues  as 
far  as  I  am  able.  I  hope  you  will  pray  for  me  that  I 
may  succeed,  in  a  measure,  at  loa:st!  Jennie  says  you 
asked  hor  who  selected  my  books?  Who  selects  them? 
I  can  answer  very  easily — ProlfManU  !  The  purest 
works  of  Protestanb  Divines  of  all  sorts,  a  c  given  me 
to  read,  and  T  have  read  them  carefully  and  candidly, 
I  do  not  think  it  would  hurt  any  of  my  Catholic 
friends  to  read  what  I  have,  for  they  are  very  harmless! 
I  think  I  am  nwre  of  a  Catholic  when  I  finish  one  of 
those  books,  than  I  was  when  I  commenced  !  I  some- 
times think  people  do  not  care  what  I  like  or  do  not 
like.  In  this  place  it  is  no  matter  what  is  said  to  injure 
a  Catholic's  feelings.  They  are  of  no  consequence.  But, 
thank  Heaven,  I  am  a  Catholic ;  nor  would  I  change 
my  faith  for  all  of  theirs  !"' 

About  that  time  a  distressing  occurrence  in  that 
vicinity  caused  the  deepest  regret  to  the  children  of 
the  Church,  and  gave  its  enemies  an  opportunity 
which,  in  accordance  with  their  accustomed  vigilance 
and  malice,  they  did  not  by  any  means  fail  to  improve 
to  the  utmost  by  spreading  accounts  of  the  circum- 
stance abroad,  witii  niultiplied  exaggerations  and 
triumphant  sneers.  After  alluding  brietly  to  the  cir- 
cumstance, in    a    letter    to   Yauiachichc,  and  to  the 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


49 


grief  aud  reproach  x'^'liicli  the  scandal  had  hrouglit 
u[)on  her  innocent  spirit,  she  says  "  I  liavc  only  to 
summon  up  all  my  courage  to  endure  and  face  all  such 
things.  1  arn  often  asked  the  question,  '  Do  you  not 
wish  you  had  never  gone  to  a  convent  ?  then  you 
would  never  have  been  a  Catholic'  Oh,  ma  Tante  ! 
I  would  not  give  np  my  belief  in  the  Catholic  religion 
if  I  could  be  assured  of  a  long  and  perfectly  happy 
life  here  by  so  doing!  There  is  such  peace  to  be  found 
there  !  Oh,  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  over  retrace 
my  steps  and  wander  farther  from  the  fold  of  the  good 
Shepherd.  Some  call  me  an  enthusiast ;  others  say  I 
must  have  had  very  little  stability  of  character  to  go 
from  Protestantism  to  Catholicity.  But  why  sliould 
I  care  ?  If  I  am  confident  that  our  heavenly  Father 
will  strengthen  me  in  my  course,  I  am  sure  I  ought  to 
forget  these  little  tilals,  I  am  not  striving  now  to 
please  tJie  world,  but  a  higher  object  is  mine,  I  trust." 


•»S»,1 


1 


p 


50 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Under  tlie  same  dato  of  lior  last  letter  to  Yauinolil- 
che,  slie  wrote  to  her  friend  in  Burlington  : 

"  My  own  dear  L e  :     Yours  was  received  this 

afternoon,  and  this  evening  I  have  been  writing  to 
the  convent,  and  thought  1  would  write  to  you  before 
I  slept.  We  are  fond,/'>'m  friends  yet,  my  dear  L — 
but  I  fear  we  shall  have  something  to  render  our  af- 
fection less  warm ;  I  hope  and  pray  it  may  never  bo 
the  case,  but  our  circumstances  are  going  to  be  thrown 

in  a  widely  different  sphere.     Now,  L ,  do  no^  '  o 

astonished,  it  is  so  ;  1  feel  confident  of  it.     My  1 
can  never  change,  and  its  warmest  aspirations  »,.ii 

ever  be  for  you You  must  be  aware  of 

my  undying  love.  The  reason  I  have  for  saying  this' 
is  the  fact  of  your  speaking  of  the  revival  in  Burling* 
ton.  I  wonder  not  that  you  sometimes  wish  for  that 
peace  which  the  world  can  never  give ;  all  need  it 
here,  and  I  would  fain  see  all  those  I  love  in  posses- 
sion of  it 

You  Are  aware  that  I  am  in  sentiment  a  Catholic  ; 
now,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  speaking  soberly  and  in 
earnest]  therefore,  listen — with  Catholics  religion  is 
not  a  mere  opinion,  but  something  higher — it  is  Faith. 
I  am  convinced  that  I  can  never  make  any  other 
church  my  home,  and  I  am  resolved  to  become  a 
member  of  the  Catholic  Church  as  soon  as  I  can,  let 
the  consequences  be  what  they  may.  If  my  friends 
do  not  consent,  I  must  go  without  it.  I  am  not 
striving  to  please  the  world,  but  a  High  and  Holy 
One.  In  taking  this  step  I  know  all  will  be  against 
me,  but  I  fear  not.     And,  I^ ,  there  are  those  who 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


51 


uill  dislike  to  have  you  with  me  after  that;  there  are 
those  who  would  f^Mfidly  hreak  our  friend.sliip  after  I 
take  sucli  a  decisive  step.  I  refer  to  no  one  partic- 
ularly, but  to  your  Protestant  friends.  But  remem- 
ber, you  have  not  a  better  frieiul  in  the  world  than 
the  one  who  is  at  lieart  &Jirm  Catholic. 

Now  you  perceive  my  reason  for  connuencing  my  let- 
ter as  1  did.  Your  friends  will  fear  my  influence  with 
you,  and  you  will  soon  see  what  steps  they  will  take. 
I  keep  nothing  from  you,  my  own  dear  friend,  there- 
fore 1  could  not  withold  my  thoughts  on  this  subject. 
Loving  you  as  I  do,  I  would  not  willingly  say  or  do 
anything  to  injure  your  feelings,  but  I  ought  to  tell 
you  this,  do  you  not  think  so  ?  Heaven  forbid  that 
our  friendship  should  over  grow  cold  !  I  have  joined 
a  society  in  the  convent  called  the  Cuildrbn  of  Mary, 

]\Iiss  II of  this  place  is  attending  school  there, 

and  is  now  at  home  on  a  visit — returns  next  Monday 
— I  have  been  writing  letters  to  send  uy  her  to  some 
of  the  nuns  and  scholars 

If  you  could  hear  all  that  is  said  against  Catholics 
in  my  presence,  you  would  pity  poor  Debbie  ;  I  feel 
it  as  sensibly  as  any  one  could,  I  asf^ure  you,  and 
though  I  am  not  a  professor  of  that  Holy  Religion,  I 

would  fain  be.     You  see  L how  I  feel,  and  you 

would  not  blame  me  if  you  only  knew  all."     .... 

Contrary  to  Debbie's  expectations,  she  returned  to 
Fairfax  at  the  close  of  the  vacation,  for  the  Summer 
term,  and  soon  afterwards  wrote  the  following  letter  : 

"  Fairfax,  May  20th,  1855.    ) 
Saturday/  morning.  \ 
My  dear  friend  Carrie  : 

Pardon  me  for  not  replying  to  your  excellent 
letter  sooner.  I  was  not  here  when  it  arrived,  and 
for  that  reason  alone  I  have  uot  written  long  before 
this.  I  think  as  you  do  about  excuses,  and  therefore 
will  not  fill  my  letter  with  them. 

Many  thanks  for  your  warm  congratulations  upon 
my  reception  into  the  lovely  society  of  the  Children 
of  Mary.  I  can  only  say  in  return,  that  I  am  most 
happy  to  think  they  deemed  it  proper  to  admit  me. 


f  ■ 

•»■ 

t 

!  - 

1 

1 

i 

ii. 


52 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


Oh  Carrie,  you  know  not  how  many  pleasant  days 
I  have  had  in  consequence  of  it !  To  know  tliat  I 
am  one  of  our  sweet  Mother's  chosen  children  is  in- 
deed a  happy  thought.  I  only  wish  that  I  may  be  a 
true  follower  of  her  example  while  on  earth.  It  is 
now  the  Month  of  Mary,  and  fast  passing  away.  I 
am  here  among  those  who  ever  scorn  the  thought 
that  she  can  pray  for  us,  yet  I  have  endeavored  to 
lift  my  heart  often  to  her,  and  implore  her  powerful  in- 
tercession.* Oh !  who  can  doubt  that  Jesus,  our  dear 
Saviour,  grants  Mary  many  things  which  we  poor 
mortals  in  this  sinful  world  could  not  obtain  without 
her  aid  ?  Who  can  doubt  that  n.igeh  hover  around 
us  here,  guiding  and  guarding  our  wandering  steps  ? 
Who  can  deny  the  beautiful  doctrine  of  the  "  Invoca- 
tion of  Saints,"  and  the  faith  in  "  Angel  guardians  i"' 
Beautiful  indeed  to  the  Catholic  heart  are  these 
things,  and  the  more  they  are  scorned  for  their  faith 
in  them,  the  more  fondly  and  devotedly  do  they  cling 
to  it. 

When  I  glance  at  the  Protestant  world  I  cannot 
find  one  thing  to  make  their  religion  beautiful.  They 
have  parted  with  those  pure  and  lovely  doctrines 
which  the  Catholic  holds  most  sacred  :  those  forms 
which  render  the  services  of  our  Holy  lieligion  so 
sublime,  so  tenderly  beautiful,  and  have  taken  in 
their  stead  the  cold  formalities  of  a  protesting  creed. 
They  have  exchanged  the  Catholic  Faith  for  "rea- 
son"— "  common  sense" — and  the  mysteries  of  faith 
are  to  them  absurd  and  faliie  ideas.  Oh,  Heaven  for- 
bid that  I  should  ever  wander  from  the  Fold  of  our 
blessed  Redeemer,  that  I  should  ever  substitute  my 
poor,  frail,  erring  reason  for  Dioim  Faith !  I  am  a 
Catholic,  Carrie,  a  firm  one,  so  far  as  I  can  be  now, 
and  the  thought  that  I  am  even  a  believer  in  that  ho- 
ly religion  sometimes  overpowers  me.  The  thouglit 
that  God  has  given  me  the  grace  to  see  the  Truth, 
and  the  faith  to  believe  it,  sometimes  impresses  my 
heart  so  forcibly  that  I  feel  as  if  I  must  give  my  life 
to  His  service,  as  a  small  return  for  His  infinite  good- 
ness.    How  much,  my  dear   Carrie,  we   have  to   bo 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


53 


mt  days 
V  that' I 
en  is  in- 
iiay  be  a 
L.  It  is 
way.  I 
thought 
:ored  to 
^er/id  in- 
Duv  dear 
we  poor 
without 
around 
y  steps  ? 
Invoca- 
•dians  ?" 
•e  these 
}ir  faith 
ey  cling 

'.  cannot 
,  Tliey 
octrines 
ie  forms 
gion  so 
[ikeu  in 
7  ereed. 
)r  "rca- 
of  faitli 
ven  fctr- 

of  our 
;ute  my 

I  am  a 
be  now, 
that  ho- 
thouglit 

Truth, 
sses  my 

my  life 
te  good- 
3  to   bo 


thankful  for,  who  have  been  brought  from  the  dark 
uncertainties  of  Protestantism  to  the  hriffhi  and  living 
Church  of  Christ ;  though  you  have  had  a  greater  joy 
than  your  poor  friend  Debbie,  in  having  already  en- 
tered the  fold  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  yet  I  trust  that 
happiness  is  still  in  store  for  me,  and  that  the  waters 
of  Baptism  with  their  purifying  influences  are  to  be 
poured  upon  ray  hoad,  to  render  me  the  child  of  God. 
Oh,  that  the  happiness  I  anticipate  on  that  day  may 
bo  fnlly  realized  !  And  then  the  day  of  first  Commun- 
ion !  mcthinks  one  would  like  to  live  a  life  over,  to 
receive  the  Bread  of  Life  again  for  the  first  time. 
'J'o  my  heait  there  is  nothing  so  beautiful,  so  calcula- 
ted to  awaken  our  shmiberinglove  for  Jesus,  as  the 
thought  of  His  unbounded  love  for  man — weak,  sin- 
ful, erring  man — in  leaving  him  the  Holy  Eucha- 
rist ;  in  preparing  a  sacrament  on  which  the  hungry 
soul  may  feast ;  in  giving  us  that  Bread  which  An- 
gels gladly  stoop  from  their  high  home  in  heaven  to 
adore.  Real  Presence  of  Christ  in  the  Holy  Com- 
munion! Oh,  glorious  thought,  oh,  precious  belief! 
In  His  presence  we  can  refresh  our  souls,  and  upon 
Ills  breast  pour  out  all  our  sorrows,  all  our  griefs  ! 
....  I  have  been  home  and  passed  a  week,  return- 
ing to  Fairfax  with  regret. 

While  at  homo  1  visited  the  Catholic  Church  and 
burial  place  twice  and  even  in  that  found  some  con- 
solation. I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  feelings  I  en- 
tered the  burial  place.  It  was  just  at  evening,  and 
the  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  falling  upon  the  scat- 
tered stones  which  mark  the  resting  places  of  the  de- 
jiarted  ;  when  I  opened  the  gate  and  entered,  I  felt 
that  I  was  treading  upon  holy  ground,  and  bending 
the  knee  upon  the  green  sod  that  covered  a  mound 
upon  which  a  large  cross  had  been  erected,  I  offered 
up  a  prayer  that  "  the  souls  of  the  faithful  departed 
might  rest  in  peace."  I  stopped  by  the  lowly  graves, 
and  read  upon  the  marble  tablets  the  request  of  many 
dying  Christians,  "  Pray  for  the  departed  soul."  I 
asked  myself  the  question,  "  would  a  prayer  be  offer- 
ed for  the  repose  of  my  soul  if  Death  should  call  me 


■  »  ;, 


( 


I! 


•I 


54 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


away  ?"  A  voice  whispered,  "  Yes;  there  is  a  Church 
where  prayer  is  offered  daily  for  departed  souls." 
Oh  happy  thought !  I  felt  in  those  moments  that 
death  was  nothing  but  the  door  opening  into  a  hap- 
pier world I  received  your  beautiful  medal ; 

accept  many  thanks,  my  dear  friend,  for  it.  Remem- 
ber me  in  your  prayers  to  Heaven.  I  shall  expect  you 
to  visit  me  sometime  next  Summer,  as  I  suppose  you 
will  be  in  Burlington. 

I  received  a  present  from  ma  Tante  the  N a 

few  days  since — a  book,  the  title,  "  Fabiola,"  '  Jar- 
dinal  Wiseman. 

Do  write  me  very  soon  if  you  can,  for  I  am  very 
lonely  here.  I  have  not  attontlcd  Catholic  Church 
for  four  months.  Is  it  not  too  bad/^  Helen  sends  a 
great  deal  of  love  to  you ;  sliu  is  here  with  me  at 
school 

"Pray  for  me  ever,  and  believe  me  ever  tlu  same, 

"  DRnniE,  lOnfant  do  Mai  13." 

The  latter  part  of  the  next  month  she  vvrotj  the 
following  to  her  friend  in  Burlington  : 

*'  Fairfax,  June  27ti\,  1855. 

My  own  dear  L :    It  is  one  of  those  lovely 

mornings  we  so  often  sec  in  June,  and  as  I  sit  by 
my  open  window,  I  cannot  but  think  of  one  who  is 
now  sad  and  sorrowing ;  and  is  it  strange,  my  beloved 
friend,  that  I  should  feel  prompted  to  write  to  her  ? 

Can  you  think  who  it  is  L ?     Can  you  think  of 

any  one  whom  Debbie  loves  fondly  and  devotedly  ?  a 
kind  friend,  who  has  ever  remained  true,  in  joy  and 
in  sorrow  ?     I  am  sure  you  will  know  who  it  is. 

Your  letter  brought  sad  news  to  me,  my  friend,  but 
in  the  death  of  those  we  love,  there  is  that  consola- 
tion offered  to  the  wounded  spirit  which  often  soothes 
and  lulls  to  rest  its  tumults.  Heaven  is  far  brighter 
than  Earth  :  then  why  mourn  the  loss  of  friends  when 
we  have  the  full  assurance  that  they  are  at  rest?  It 
is  true,  the  grave  looks  dark  to  us,  and  there  is  rea- 
son in  this.  Earth's  partings  are  sad,  but,  if  we  are 
faithful,  we  shall  soon  meet  our  lost  ones  in  a  world 
where  the  parting  word  is  never  spoken.     Friends  we 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEUTS. 


55 


part  witli  here  are  the  gainers ;  and  while  we  weep 
over  their  remains  we  should  remember  that   their 

portion  is  bliss.     Oh  my  dear  L !    death  is  not 

much  if  we  are  only  prepared.  It  is  only  the  passage 
from  this  sinful  world  to  a  better  one,  and  if  we  are 
only  ready  when  Our  Father  calls,  our  death-bed  will 
be  a  happy  one. 

Who  would  wish  to  remain  forever  in  this  ^Yorld 
of  pain  and  trouble,  when  one  of  perfect  happiness  is 
prepared  for  us  ?  Who  would  choose  the  society  of 
earth,  when  the  blespocl  company  of  saints  and  an- 
gels await  us  in  Heaven  ?     I  would  not ;  no,    L 

dear,  nor  would  you,  if  you  stop  to  reflect.  Then 
mourn  not  for  her  who  has  been  called  to  her  true 
liome;  it  is  the  will  of  Our  Father  in  Heaven,  ques- 
tion not  His  riirht. 

I  wish  I  could  see  you,  if  only  for  a  short  time. 
This  morning  I  have  l)een  thinking  when  I  should  go 
to  Burlington.  I  expect  to  leave  Fairfax  in  three 
weeks,  and  then  I  shall  cither  go  to  Montreal,  or  to 
]>ristoi  and  Ijiirlingtoii.  I  may  go  to  Burlington, 
even  if  I  do  go  to  Montreal.". ... 

The  next  letter  to  Yamachiche,  which  was  preserv- 
ed, was  written  from  P\iirfax. 

"  July,  1855.  ...»  I  think  my  parents  are  getting 
more  resigned  to  my  being  a  Catholic,  though  I  do 
not  know  how  long  it  will  last.  When  I  was  at 
home,  they  told  me  that  if  I  must  be  a  Catholic,  they 
supposed  I  must;  but  they  thought  I  couM  not  be  in 
my  right  mind.  I  think  I  shall  persuade  them  to  let 
me  go  to  Montreal  when  the  year  closes,  and  then  I 
hope  to  unite  with  the  Church.  Oh  what  a  blessed  sea- 
son that  would  bo  for  me.  But  I  hop('  against  fear ; 
and,  therefore,  will  not  anticipate  too  much  now.  I 
earnestly  pray  the  day  may  soon  arrive  when  I  shall 
be  within  that  one  fold,  whose  Shepherd  is  Christ." 


She  laid  this  letter  aside  when  she  had  written  thus 
far,  to  write  one  to  her  father,  begging  of  him  to 
permit  her  to  accompany  a  very  agreeable  party  of  la- 
'lies  and  gentlemen,  who  had  politely  invited  her  <o 
join  them,  and  who  were  g'''ing  the  latter  part  of  the 


56 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEUTS. 


mouth,  from  Fairfax,  Sheldon,  Highgate  and  Swauton, 
to  Montreal.  The  two  young  ladies  whom  she  men- 
tioned as  having  gone  to  the  convent  from  Fairfax, 
were  expected  to  return  home  with  the  party.  After 
entreating  to  be  permitted  to  go,  she  adds  :  "  If  I  go 
I  shall  stay  at  the  Mountain  school  most  of  the  time. 
I  have  had  a  very  polite  invitation  from  the  nuns  to 
make  them  a  visit,  and  as  many  of  the  young  ladies 
who  are  now  there,  leave  this  fall,  I  would  rather  go 
now  than  later.  And  now,  father,  as  far  as  some 
other  matters  are  concerned,  you  know  what  I  would 
like  to  do  not  because  my  friends  are  opposed  to  it,  not 
that  as  far  as  worldly  interests  are  concerned,  I  shall 
be  any  better  off,  neither  is  it  because  a  proselyting 
influence  has  been  thrown  around  me ;  this  is  not  so. 
It  is  because  I  think  it  is  duty.  But  I  will  say  no 
more ;  I  will  leave  you  to  choose  as  you  think  best. 
But  one  more  word  I  will  say;  I  shall  be  no  worse 
than  I  now  am.  I  shall  be  Debbie,  still !"  Her  re- 
quest received  an  absolute  refusal  as  to  all  its  features, 
and  she  concludes  the  letter  to  her  friend,  which  was 
laid  aside  until  she  should  hear  from  her  father,  thus : 
"My  parents  will  not  consent  to  my  going  to  Can- 
ada, as  I  wrote  to  you  that  I  wished  to.  They  had 
rather  have  me  go  any  other  way ;  but  I  do  not  wish 
to  go  from  home  again,  until  I  am  p  ^c  to  say,  lam  a 
Catholic.  Yes  !  I  wish  the  world  to  know  it.  I  have 
received  some  books  from  Jennie — one,  the  "  Imita- 
tion of  Christ,"  another,  the  "Trials  of  a  Mind,"  by 
Dr.  Ives,  formerly  Bishop  of  the  Protestant  Episco- 
pal Church,  of  North  Carolina.  I  cannot  find  much 
more  to  write  now,  unless  I  make  myself  the  subject. 
I  am  not  sure  it  will  prove  a  very  interesting  one,  but 
will  say  a  few  words.  You  know  I  am  the  same  in 
my  determination  to  be  a  Catholic,  and  I  feel  that  my 
Father  in  Heaven  will  support  me  in  all  my  difficul- 
ties. Yes,  His  arm  is  mighty,  and  why  need  I  fear  ? 
I  am  sure  the  Mother  of  our  Divine  Redeemer  will 
ever  intercede  for  me,  if  I  look  to  her  with  confidence. 
I  know  I  am  each  day  getting  more  courageous,  and 
strength  from  on  High  is  given  me.     I  hope  the  day 


i* 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


57 


will  ere  long  arrive,  when  I  can  say  that  I  am  a 
Catholic ;  then  the  world  can  assail  me  if  it  chooses, 
and  1  can  fly  to  that  Church,  to  Her  sacraments,  for 
consolation  in  my  trials  and  afflictions.  Sometimes  I 
think  I  cannot  wait ;  but  I  am  sure  the  day  is  not  far 
distant  when  I  shall  be  received  into  the  bosom  of 
that  Church,  whose  teachings  are  purity  itself." 

During  the  same  week,  in  which  the  concluding  part 
of  the  foregoing  letter  was  written,  she  wrote  the  one 
which  contains  what  follows,  to  a  member  of  the  Con- 
gregation, in  Montreal.  It  was  in  reply  to  that  con- 
veying the  invitation  alluded  to  in  her  letter,  to  her 
father : 

"  My  Dear  Tante  :  You  know  not  how  often  I 
have  thought  of  my  convent  home,  within  the  last  few 
weeks  and  my  heart  has  yearned  to  be  with  you  there, 
but  the  sad  thought  that  I  could  not,  has  prevented 
my  writing.  Do  not  think  that  Debbie  has  forgotten 
her  kind  and  true  friends.  No,  she  has  not  The  in- 
telligence I  have  to  convey,  in  this  letter,  is  what  I 
dislike  to  write.  I  begin  to  think,  ma  Tante,  that  I 
am  going  to  be  denied  the  pleasure  of  ever  seeing  the 
convent  again.  I  can  obtain  no  consent  from  my  pa- 
rents to  return  there,  and  what  ean  I  do  ?  I  thought  I 
should  make  my  first  communion  where  I  first  learned 
to  love  the  Catholic  religion,  but  it  seems  to  be  or- 
dered otherwise.  I  think  I  have  waited  long  enough, 
for  the  consent  of  my  friends  to  my  union  with  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church."  ....  After  the  close  of 
tlie  summer  term  of  the  school  on  the  26th  of  July, 
she  went  to  visit  friends  in  Burlington  and  Ferrisburgh 
She  w^rote  to  her  friend  at  Yamachiche  : 

"  Feurisburgii,  Aua.  18,  1855,  Tuesday  Morning. 
....  You  perceive  I  have  left  Fairfax,  and  am  at 
this  place,  making  my  friends  a  short  visit.  I  have 
been  in  Burlington  for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  am 
to  return  there  again,  Thursday  morning.  I  am  not 
going  to  remain  in  Fairfax  any  longer,  but  shall  be 
at  home  for  some  weeks,  and  I  do  not  know  where  I 
shall  go  next.  How  I  wish  Montreal  was  my  desti- 
nation !     You  know  I  thought  of  going  to  Montreal 


i' 


&■■■ 


m 


'% 


p 


58 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


■1 

t 

'  ,1 

i       ,      ■, 

1                   ;i 

■i* 

ililll 


-.1 


t; 


this  summer;  it  was  a  trial,  I  assure  you,  to  give  it 
up,  and  I  do  not  know  now,  when  1  shall  go.  1  think 
I  make  some  progress  in  getting  the  good  will  of  my 
friends  on  the  side  of  Catholic  faith  and  principles ; 
and  though  they  are  still  much  opposed,  yet  I  can  see 
there  is  a  change,  and  I  do  trust  the  light  of  that  day 
is  slowly  but  surely  dawning,  when  they  will  willingly 
say,  '  You  are  on  the  side  of  truth.''  ....  I  do  not 
feel  as  ii  the  trials  I  have  passed  through  are  all  for 
naught — no  !  oh,  no  !  There  are  others  within  the 
circle  of  my  dear  friends  who  will  yet  follow  in  the 
way  of  Truth  1  Even  look  at  my  sisters.  Their 
sympathies  are  all  awakened  for  me,  and  the  course 
my  relatives  have  taken  has  made  them  feel  as  though 
*  Debbie'  was  right,  or  she  would  have  given  up  before 
this !  Two  of  my  sisters,  though  quite  young,  one 
being  fourteen  and  the  other  eleven,  are  really  giving 
some  uneasiness,  because  they  are  not  willing  to  go 
to  Protestant  meeting,  when  there  is  Mass.  Many 
times  I  have  started  for  Mass,  in  the  morning,  and 
left  them  both  weeping,  because  they  were  not  allowed 
to  go  with  me.  I  feel,  sometimes,  a  responsibility 
resting  upon  me,  which  I  need  much  Divine  strength 
to  assist  me  in  being  accountable  for,  in  a  right 
manner.  I  ^rust  there  is  nothing  that  will  prevent 
me  from  doing  my  duty,  as  far  as  I  am  able.  Every 
day,  almost,  1  find  some  new  friends ;  some  who  can 
feel  what  my  true  situation  is.  Last  week,  or  rather 
two  weeks  ago,  when  on  my  way  to  Burlington,  I  got 
as  far  as  St.  Albans,  and  supposed  I  must  remain  all 
day  at  the  hotel.  Father  was  with  me,  and  what  was 
my  astonishment,  after  having  been  there  an  hour,  to 
have  him  come  into  the  parlor,  and  introduce  a  gen- 
tleman to  me,  as  Mr.  Hoyt,  in  whom  I  recognized  a 
person  of  whom  I  had  heard,  who  was  formerly  a 
Protestant  clergyman,  but  who  had  the  happiness  of 
becoming  a  Catholic,  some  years  ago.  He  invited 
me  to  spend  the  day  at  his  house,  and  I  did  so.  I 
found  his  wife  one  of  the  most  lovely  ladies  I  ever 
met,  and  they  have  a  beautiful  family  of  children. 
They  are  true  Catholics,  and  in  them  I  feel  as  if  I 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


59 


1 


had  found  true  friends,  and  those  near  lionie.  They 
have  Decome  Catliolics,  after  having  been  for  years  in 
the  Protestant  communion,  and  they  hiow  what  aper- 
son  has  to  pass  through  in  changing  their  religious  creeds 

Upon  her  return  home,  she  found  a  letter  awaiting 
]icr  from  lier  friend  in  Albany,  to  which  the  following 
is  the  reply. 

"Fairfiklt),  Aug.  28tit,  1855. 

"  My  Dearest  Carrie :  I  always  intend  to  be  as 
charitable  as  I  can,  therefore  I  will  not  reproach  you 
for  not  writing  before;  I  thought  it  must  be  more 
from  want  of  time  than  any  thing  else,  that  you  did 
not  w'rite  sooner.  1  fear  you  in  turn  will  think  me 
rather  unmindful  of  your  nice  long  letter,  but  my  ex- 
cuse is  a  good  one.  I  was  in  Burlington  when  your 
letter  arrived  and  did  not  get  it  until  now.  It  was 
very  welcome,  Carrie  dear ;  do  try  and  write  often. 
I  find,  my  friend,  that  we  do  not  forget  each  other 
yet,  and  I  trust  the  same  may  always  be  said. 

I  wish  I  might  be  with  you  this  evening,  Carrie, 
for  I  feel  the  need  of  a  friendly  hand,  and  some  kind 
voice  to  cheer  me  onward.  Not  that  I  am  in  a  de- 
sponding mood,  no,  far  from  it ;  but  then  the  sym- 
pathy of  a  kindred  heart  is  sometimes  cheering. 
Have  you  not  often  felt  it  so,  my  friend  ?  But  I 
must  not  murmur.  How  much  more  has  been  given 
to  me  than  to  many  of  my  surrounding  friends.  Yes  ! 
a  gift  from  on  high — Faith — while  1  can  look  around 
and  behold  so  many  living  in  unbelief  of  the  truth,  as 
I  once  did  myself,  T  can  feel  that  I  am  too  thankless 
to  Almighty  God  for  having  guided  me  to  the  door 
of  the  Church  of  Christ,  where  I  still  stand,  that  my 
faith  may  be  tried  ere  I  enter  its  sacred  Portals.  Oh, 
ISaviour  of  all !  make  me  firm.  I  am  almost  at  the 
close  of  my  probation,  I  trust.  How  often  I  pray 
that  I  may  be  permitted  soon  to  see  that  day,  that 
happy  day  !  and  hope  bids  me  look  forward  confident- 
ly to  it.  I  have  much  to  contend  with,  but  who 
would  not  bo  willin":  to  suffer  trials  for  the  sake  of 
nim  who  died  upon  a  cross  for  us  ? 

"  Yesterday  morning  I  was  in  St.  Albans,  and,  the 


■i. 


60 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


« 


.     $ 


clinrch  being  open  I  went  in,  uad  there,  before  the 
Shrine  of  our  Immaculate  Mother^  I  ])rayed  lonfj^  and 
fervently  that  I  might  be  strong.  C)h  Carrie !  yon 
know  how  prayer  strengthens  the  soul  !  As  meat  is 
to  the  body,  so  is  heartfelt^  sincere  prayer  to  the  sonl. 
It  strengthens  it  for  every  duty.  You  have  the  priv- 
ilege of  attending  Mass  every  morning,  and  what  a . 
privilege  }  I  did  not  once  realize  that  I  sliould  ev- 
er esteem  it  such  a  blessed  one.  Pray  for  me  always 
at  the  Holy  Sacrifice :  bo  sure  and  remember  me 
then 

"  I  never  expect  to  return  to  the  convent  school,  but 
every  spot  there  is  as  sacred  as  ever  to  me,  and  at 
some  future  day  I  hope  to  vihit  it. 

"  I  passed  three  weeks  at  Burlington,  and  saw  your 

cousin.  Mrs.  T ,  several  times  ;  was  at  her  house 

twice,  and  in  her  I  think  I  have  found  a  true  friend. 
I  also  visited  at  Mr.  Hoyt's  on  my  way  to  Burlington. 

*'  I  expect  Kate  Thomisson  here  in  about  a  week 
to  make  me  a  visit.  She  is  going  to  return  to  Mon- 
treal for  another  year.  I  suppose  we  shall  have  a 
fine  time.  How  1  wish  you  could  be  here  also ! 
When  do  you  intend  to  visit  Vermont  ?  1  think  not 
this  Summer  from  your  letter 

"  Write  to  me  often,  Carrie  dear,  and  if  you  wish 
to  unburden  your  joys  and  sorrows,  you  will  find  in 
me  a  true  friend  in  whom  you  may  coniide. 

*'  And  now,  Carrie  good  bye.  Pleasant  dreams 
to  you  to-night.  Remember  me  to  your  dear  mother, 
of  whom  I  have  so  often  heard  you  speak. 

"  Pray  always  for  your  friend, 

"  Dkbbie,  enfant  de  Marie^ 
{To  the  same.) 
"  FAiHFiET.n,  Oct.  SOtii,  1855. 

"  My  much  loved  Carrie  :  It  is  evening  :  all  is  qui- 
et and  silent,  and  I  am  in  my  own  room  alone,  wan- 
dering in  thought  among  many  bright  scenes  of  the 
past,  in  which  some  dear  friends  now  absent  from  my 
Bight  acted  conspicuous  parts.  Ah,  the  joys  tliat  are 
past !     Would  that  I  could  recall  them  ! 

"I  am  sad  to  night,  Carrie,  oh  how  sad     I  feel 


I 


'0- 


ili 


m 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


Gl 


lY.I 


ofore  the 
\ou<r  and 
•lie  !  you 
8  meat  is 
the  soul, 
the  priv- 
:d  what  a 
liould  ev- 
no  always 
liber   mo 

3hool,  but 
e,  and  at 

saw  your 
ler  house 
le  friend, 
irlington. 
t  a  week 

to  Mon- 
11  have  a 
)re   also  ! 

liink  not 

'ou  wish 
ii  find  in 

dreams 
mother, 


lane. 


5) 


^855. 
His  qui- 
le,  wan- 
of  the 
I'oni  my 
|hat  are 

I  feel 


alone No  bond  of  sympathy  is  there  between 

my  spirit  and  those  around  me,  and  1  am  longing  for 
the  hours,  "  To  memory  dear  :"  but  she  whispers — 
"They  are  fled." 

"  You  know,  my  friend,  how  long  I  have  waited  for 
the  consent  of  my  parents  to  my  baptism.  I  have 
lingered  until  this  time,  but  in  vain.  Can  I  consis- 
tently wait  longer  ?  My  desire  to  be  united  to  the 
Catholic  Church  in  her  sacraments  is  too  great  to 
have  my  probation  lengthened  out  still  further.  I 
must  go  !  It  is  wrong  for  me  to  put  the  matter  off 
longer,  I  feel  so,  and  I  am  willing  to  declare  before 
the  world  that  I  am  a  Catholic.  It  is  very  hard  to 
go  againrt  my  parents'  wishes,  but  God  will  be  my 
support.  I  am  ready,  if  my  friends  despise  mo  for 
the  course  I  take,  to  look  to  something  more  certain 
for  friendship,  more  lasting  for  happiness. 

"  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  T this  evening.     I  find  her  a 

true  friend,  Carrie,  and  I  assure  you  I  love  her  very 
much. 

"I  received  a  letter  from  the  convent  a  few  days 
since,  but  it  was  quite  a  short  one.  No  great  change, 
I  presume,  at  Maria  Villa.  How  I  wish  I  could  be 
transported  there  to  night !  Sweet  spot !  How  often 
my  heart,  sad  and  weary  of  this  world's  vexatious 
trials,  returns  to  thee  ! 

"  But  why  should  I  be  sad  ?  How  much  reason 
liave  I  to  thank  our  Heavenly  Father  that  He  has 
brought  me  to  the  knowledge  of  His  Truth  ! 

"  Jbo  write  to  me,  Carrie  dear,  often.  Your  letters 
are  always  welcome.  I  love  them  dearly — I  love  them 
long — not  in  coming  but  in  compass. 

"  Pray  for  me  always   .... 

"  With  warmest  affection  vours, 

"Debbie,  Enfant  de Marie.'''' 

Her  next  letter  addressed  to  Yamachichc  was  dat- 
ed at  Fairfield,  Nov.  20,  1855.  After  expressing 
great  surprise  that  "  ma  Tante"  had  not  received  any 
letters  since  August,  as  she  had  written  regularly  to 
her,  she  adds :  "  When  your  letter  came  to  Fairfield,  I 


62 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEUTS. 


was  in  St.  All)an's.  T  wont  thore  to  do  some  shop- 
ping, and  remained  two  days.  Wliile  tiiere  1  made  ar- 
rangements to  be  recived  into  the  Church,  and  one 
week  from  next  Saturday  will,  I  hope,  witness  my 
baptism,  and  tlie  next  day  I  hope  to  make  my  first 
Communion.  I  liavc  mentioned  to  my  parents  my  in- 
tention, and  they  neither  consented  nor  forbade.  But, 
thanks  be  to  God,  it  is  not  necessary  that  I  should 
wait  longer,  and  when  I  next  write  to  you  I  hope  to 
tell  you  the  glad  news.  We  have  two  excellent 
priests  with  ns  now ;  therefore  I  can  find  some  one 
to  advise  and  direct  me.  I  wrote  to  ma  Tante — at 
Montreal,  last  week,  and  I  told  her  I  should  probably 
never  write  to  the  convent  again,  until  I  could  tell 
them  that  I  was  a  Catholic  in  every  sense  of  the 
word.  I  was  weary  of  writing  that  the  day  was  yet 
to  come.  I  longed  to  say  it  had  been  my  happiness 
to  be  received  as  one  of  the  children  of  God's  Church 

on  earth Pray  for  me  that  I  may  worthily 

receive  the  sacraments  of  our  holy  religion — that  I 
may  have  afrm  faith  and  a  def:p  love  of  Cod  implant- 
ed in  my  heart !  I  will  write  again  as  soon  as  1  can 
tell  yon  the  good  news," 

"  Fairfieid.  Dec.  4Trr,  1855 — How  can  I  com- 
mence this  letter?  How  should  I  commence  it? 
How,  but  in  asking  you  to  join  with  me  in  praise  and 
thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God.  Yes,  my  first 
request  of  you  must  be,  that  you  will  say  with  me, 
'  'Thanhs  he  to  God  V  My  desire  has  at  length  been 
gratified,  and  I  have  been  received  into  the  Church  of 
Christ.  What  can  I  write  to  you  ?  My  heart  is  so 
full  of  happiness  that  I  cannot  write.  What  an  empty 
word  Happiness  has  ever  been  to  me.  Now  that  I 
realize  what  it  is  to  be  truhj  happy,  I  can  look  back 
upon  the  past  and  see  that  it  has  been  almost  a  hlanh. 
The  hour  of  my  haptism  !  Can  1  forget  it?  No ;  it 
is  now  before  me.  The  memory  of  it  rushes  full  and 
fresh  over  my  soul,  even  as  I  sit  here  and  write.  It 
is  now  past,  but  the  inward  feeling  of  my  heart  at  the 
moment  when  those  resreneratinf;  waters  descended 
upon  my  head,  cannot  pass  away !     I  must  ever  keep 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


G3 


in  trraU'fal  romeml)cranoc,  tlioso  sacre<l  nionienti^.  I 
Ttrav  that  thev  niav  evor  be  before  nie  to  cause  me  to 
remember  my  ^reat  obli<rations  to  my  ^od  !  lie  lias 
been  «o  merciful  to  me,  in  briufj^iuir  me  to  the  fohl 
wherein  alone  Halvation  can  be  found  ;  what  must  be 
my  irifrratitude  if  I  abuse  those  mercies — trample  up- 
on those  frTucQH  !  I'ray  earnestly  for  mc  my  kind 
friend,  as  I  am  sure  you  evor  have,  that  1  may  resist 
the  temptations  of  this  world.  Our  Heavenly  Father 
has  bron/^ht  one  more  wandering  lamb  within  the 
sacred  inciosnre  of  ITis  Church,  and  unworthy  as 
that  one  i?*,  He  has  doijT^ued  to  notice  her ;  Yes,  He 
heard  rny  request,  He  lias  granted  my  petitions,  and 
TeHcmrifr  me  from  the  imj)ending  danger,  has  '  set  my 
feet  Uf>on  a  rock.'  He  has  opened  the  door  of  His 
Church,  and  asked  my  soul  to  enter  therein.  He  has 
brought  me  within  the  reach  of  His  sacraments — has 
conferred  upon  me  the  title  of  Child  of  God!  Oh 
blessed  thought !  How  can  I  repay  ?  In  no  way  ! 
I  can  only  otter  my  penitential  prayers  and  tears, 
and  what  shall  I  say  of  the  intercession  of  the  Bless- 
ed Mother  of  our  Iledecmer  ?  Oh,  my  sweet  Mother  ! 
my  greatest  advocate  and  refuge  !  my  guiding  star  ! 
would  that  I  could  thank  thee  more  !  Take  my  offer- 
ing, which,  it  is  true,  is  but  little,  and  continue  to 
guide  and  guard  thy  child.  Would  that  all  might 
learn  to  love  thee — thou  that  art  higher  than  any 
otlier  created  intelligence  in  the  Heavenly  Courts ! 
Would  that  all  might  acknowledge  thee  to  be  the  Im- 
maculate Mother  of  God.  Pray  for  me,  and  be  my 
Mother  Ktill  !  Teach  me  the  virtues  which  shone  so 
conspicuously  in  thy  life,  and  at  last  may  I  see  thee  in 
all  thy  glory  above,  where  we  will  join  in  praising 
Him  who  saved  thee  from  sin,  and  has  rescued  my 
soul  from  the  consecjuence  of  sin,  eternally  and  with- 
out ceajjing !  ....  I  have  not  yet  made  my  first  Com- 
munion. I  preferred  to  wait  until  the  Feast  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception  of  our  Holy  ^lother,  on  the 
8th  of  this  month.  I  was  baptized  on  Friday  last, 
(the  thirtieth  of  November,)  at  St.  Albans ;  I  took  the 
name  of  Mary  Agnes  in  baptism.     I  have  about  the 


mm 


HI 


I 


G4 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


Ranic  trials  at  liome  as  ever;  pcrliaps  T  may  say,  more. 
But  wliat  are  tliese  V  1  can  look  upon  them  now  vvitli 
little  pain,  and  even  consider  it  a  happiness  to  Lear 
them.  I  request  your  prayers  for  the  conversion  of 
my  dear  friends  at  home.  You  are  the  first  one  to 
■whom  I  have  communicated  the  good  news.  You  were 
my  first  Director,  as  it  were  and  you  were  not  forgotten 
in  my  prayers  at  the  hour  of  my  baptism." 


•iifii 


]' 
1 

.1': 

'  i 

.  .'i 
» 

05 


C. HATTER  V. 


•<t) ' 


"FAiiu'iMLn,  Di:c.  25,  1S55. 

"  A  *  Merry  Clirlstmas'  to  you,  iny  dearest  Carrie, 
and  a  'Haj)py  New  Year'!  This  is  my  ^reetino-  tliis 
inornino-,  and  from  the  deptlis  of  my  heart  1  wish  you 
all  joy  ! 

"  To  me,  my  friend,  tliis  has  been  one  of  the  happi- 
est days  of  my  life.  Tliis  mornino-,  for  the  second 
time,  my  soul  has  been  nourished  by  the  '  Food  of 
Angels.'  Your  conjectures  were  right,  dear  Carrie. 
The  last  day  of  November  another  wanderer  was  re- 
ceived into  the  Church  of  Cod — even  your  poor 
friend.  Yes,  nnworthy  though  I  am,  the  door  has 
been  opened,  and  I  have  been  welcomed  there.  My 
baptism  !  but,  Carrie  dear,  I  cannot  speak  of  it  now. 
You  can  imagine  better  than  I  can  tell  you,  what 
were  the  feelings  I  experienced  at  that  time,  and  I 
will  not  attempt  to  utter  them.  I  made  my  first  com- 
munion on  the  Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception  of 
our  Blessed  Lady.  Oh,  that  happy  moment !  when 
Jesus  came  for  the  first  time  to  take  possessicm  of  my 
poor  soul — when  I  first  had  the-happiness  of  knowing 
that  He  was  present  with  mo.  Oh,  my  dear  friend  ! 
what  love,  what  condescension  is  this,  that  Almighty 
God  should  come  into  these  poor  habitations,  the 
souls  of  men,  and  make  His  abode  therein  !  Yet  who 
can  doubt  it,  Avho  can  deny  this  beautiful  article  of 
our  Faith  ?  Heal  presence  of  Christ  in  the  Holy  Fu- 
charist !  Oh  consoling  thought !  that  He  is  ever 
abiding  here  among  the  cliildren  of  men,  ever  present 
upon  our  altars,  ready  to  listen  to  our  petitions,  or  to 
our  tales  of  sorrow,  and  to  pour  the  balm  of  consola- 


t-. 


66 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


I! 


tion  into  the  broken  heart.  Ho  is  here  to  raise  re- 
pentant, humbled  spirits  from  the  dust,' to  soothe  all 
their  woe,  and  to  strengthen  them  with  the  "  Bread 
that  Cometh  down  from  Heaven." 

Oh,  Carrie  !  it  is  a  great,  a  glorious  thing  to  be  a 
Catholic  1  but  how  great  our  condemnation  will  be,  if, 
after  receiving  the  gift  of  Faith  from  Almighty  God, 
we  abuse  His  love  and  His  mercv  !  I  tremble  when 
I  think  of  it — for  poor  human  nature,  so  prone  to  evil, 
so  quick  to  err  !  but  with  the  grace  of  God  we  will 
liope  to  persevere.  Let  us  pray  for  each  other,  dear- 
est Carrie.  My  conversion  must,  I  am  confident, 
strengthen  our  friendship,  already  so  strong  in  the 
davs  that  are  past 

I  need  not  ask  if  you  spent  Christmas  happily  : 
you  must  have  done  so  in  your  convent  home.  I  re- 
ceived a   letter  from  Mrs.  T- a  week  ago.     hho 

K])oke  of  you,  and  wished  me  to  write  to  you,  which  I 
should  have  done  if  your  kind  letter  had  not  arrived. 

And  Mary  C is  married.     (Uvo   my  love  to  her 

and  to  Maggie  8 ,  when  you  see  her.       And  dear 

Maria  Melvin  ! — associated  as  she  is  with  the  remem- 
brance of  our  convent  home,  the  intelligence  I  receiv- 
ed from  you  filled  my  heart  with  sadness.  Still,  Car- 
rie dear,  if  she  longs  to  go,  we  shouM  not  mourn  her 
loss.     I  will  and  do  pray  for  her. 

I  received  a  letter  from  Kate  on  Saturilay  last. 
She  was  well,  and  all  our  convent  friends.    Have  you 

lieard    from  Jennie  S lately  ?     I    do    not   kuuw 

what  has  become  of   her Believe  me  your 

true  and  devoted  friend, 


(( 


DEumi']  Eafc^nt  de  Marie. 


It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that  no  letters  from 
Debbie  to  her  faithful  friend  at  Yamachiche  were  ex- 
tant, or  rather  accessible,  after  the  period  of  her  bap- 
tism until  the  following  March,  when  she  and  her  sis- 
ter Helen  were  uttemling  school  at  Burlington,  from 
which  pla^e  she  writes  : 

"  ThuKsday  Jfornin//,  Jrarch  C)lh,  185G. — My  dearest 
and  best  friend,  1  will  not  give  you  cause  to  comi)iaiu 
Uj'uin  of  mv  ney-lect  in  writinu;  to  vou.     1  arrived  in 


j:? 


'■3 

^1 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


67 


Burlington  Last  Mi)nclay,  and  althongli  I  am  quite 
busy  arranging  my  studies,  I  could  not  think  of  let- 
ting this  week  pass,  without  sending  one  of  my  hast- 
ily written  letters  to  Yamachichc.  Oh,  nia  Taute  ! 
my  happiness  is  so  great  that  I  cannot  wish  to  have 
it  alone;  I  want  others  to  share  it  with  me!  Ev- 
ery day  brings  me  more  to  realize  the  goodness  of 
( Jod  in  bringing  me  into  His  Church.  Every  day  I 
•find  something  more  to  admire,  something  more  to 
love ;  and  my  heart  is  too  full,  and  must  needs  speak 
its  sentiments  very  often.  To  you,  my  best  friend,  I 
can  speak  of  tliis  inward  joy.  But  how  few  there  are 
around  me  from  whom  I  can  expect  sympathy.  Je- 
sus  has  been  the  one  to  whom  all  my  joys  and  griefs 
have  been  made  knovvn;  and  though  often  uith  tears 
I  have  a})pr()achcd  Him,  He  has  taken  the  load  off 
my  heart,  and  oh,  such  peace  has  taken  its  place  ! — 
'Tuesday  Morning^  March  llth. — I  have  not  been  well 
for  a  few  days,  and  could  not  finish  my  letter  as  soon 
as  I  expected.  This  morning  I  intended  to  liave 
gone  to  Communion;  but  I  arose  with  a  severe  head- 
ache, and  I  am  obliged  to  walk  some  distance  to 
church,  so  I  deferred  it  until  to-morrow.  This  is  quite 
a  disappointment  for  me,  you  may  be  sure ;  but  I 
have  the  anticipation  of  receiving  it  to-morrow,  and 
that  will  make  this  day  a  happy  one  necessarily.  I 
find  often  my  sad  hours  become  joyous  ones,  in  look- 
ing forward  to  the  hour  when  Jesus  will  become  my 
(Jucst;  and  though  His  recei)tion  is  so  cold  from  my 
poor  heart,  how  can  we  have  the  source  of  all  love  so 
near  our  souls,  and  not  feel  its  inlluence  ?  Oh,  how 
hard  tlie  heart  must  be  that  mourns  not  its  base  in- 
gratitude towards  Jesus,  in  the  Blessed  Sacrament  ! 
How  He  comes  to  us  is  still  a  mystery  to  me,  when 
He  receives  naught  but  coldness  and  neglect  from 
us  in  return.  But  His  sacred  heart  is  so  overflowing 
with  love  for  us,  that  it  must  give  us  constant  proofs 
of  tliat  love.  Oh,  ma  Tante  !  how  I  wish  1  might 
i?ee  you  now  for  a  short  time.  H'  J  coidd  only  spend 
Holy  Week  with  my  dear  convent  friends  !  Three 
years  ago  I  was  witli  them  all,  and  then  I  first  learn- 


\'>> 


68 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


1-  '=ti,i 


eJ  to  love  our  holy  faith.  Why  I  am  not  with  you 
now,  I  cannot  tell.  I  suppose  it  is  the  will  of  God; 
but  I  trust  I  shall  some  time  visit  you  all.  My  hope 
is  strong,  and  I  look  forward  to  the  time  anxiously. 
You  are  still  in  Yamachiche,  and  are  likely  to  remain, 

I  presume,  for  some  time Do  you  think  Kate 

T will  be  a  nun  ?  I  have  thought,  from  some  of 

her  letters,  that  she  would.  I  am  sure  I  would  be 
liappy  to  sec  her  in  the  Novitiate.  Perhaps  you  thinly 
this  singular ;  but  I  always  thought  Kato  a  person 
of  very  good  mind,  and  I  do  not  feel  now  as  I  once 
did,  that  the  talented  and  gifted  should  bohiug  to  the 
world,  and  the  ordinary  ones  to  (Jod.  Far  from  it; 
just  the  reverse.  ^A'hen  you  hei.ir  of  one  of  your  for- 
mer pupils  becoming  a  novice,  I  am  sure  you  are 
very  happy,  ma  Tante.  Is  it  not  so  ?  1  presume 
you  admire  their  choice  of  life,  and,  indeed,  so  do  1. 
And  now,  good-bye  :  say  an  "  Ave  Maria"  for  Deb- 
bie, and  go  to  the  church  on  Good  Friday,  and  thank 
our  dear  Redeemer  for  the  gift  of  Faith  He  granted 
to  your  pauvre  enfant^  three  years  ago,  ou  that  day, 
praying  that  I  may  ever  remember  that  it  was  ilis 
love  and  His  mercy,  that  changed  my  heart !  Do  this, 
I  beg  of  you,  for  Debbie — enfant  de  Afariey 

"  BuiiLiN<jTON,  Vt.,  March  18. 

"  My  Dear  Carrie :  I  have  not  forgotten  you, 
though  you  may  have  inferred  this  from  my  long  si- 
lence. I  have  been  very  busy,  and  am  just  iinding 
time  to  write  to  some  of  my  friends.  I  ought  in  jus- 
tice to  have  expressed  my  thanks  to  you  for  your  hist 
letter,  immediately  after  its  reception,  it  was  so  kind, 
so  good  :  but  I  was  jireparing  to  come  to  Burlington, 
and  am  only  now  sufliciently  settled  to  write  you  a 
few  lines. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  €0  much  engaged  in  your  stud- 
ies— this  being  your  last  year — that  you  will  find  but 
little  time  to  devote  to  vour  corresnondents.     I  de- 


respi 


clare,  Carrie,  I  do  not  envy  you.  Do  you  wish  to 
know  why  ?  You  have  only  a  few  months  more  to  re- 
main in  the  convent,  and  then  vou  will  have  to  part 


J' 


with  all  the  dear  friends  you  have  found  there,  and 


■i 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


69 


e 


leave  that  sacred  spot  to  rniijn^le  with  the  world.  I 
do  not  envy  you  !  I  know  what  it  is  to  boar  the 
chanoje  :  and  you  liave  been  so  little  among  those 
who  differ  from  you  in  your  Faith,  that  when  the  time 
does  come  that  you  will  be  obliged  to  meet  them  in 
every  place,  and  at  all  times,  you  will  find  it  a  trial 
more  difficult  to  bear  than  you  can  imagine  now. — 
The  change  will  be  so  great !  But  perhaps  I  am  mis- 
taken. It  may  be  that  Carrie  will  remain  for  life 
where  she  is.  Am  I  right  ?  Although  I  love  you 
dearly,  I  could  say  truly  1  would  be  proud  to  see  you 

giving  yourself  up  wholly  to  God I  am  very 

glad  you  are  going  to  write  to  Jennie.  She  often 
enquires  for  you,  and  I  will  give  you  her  address. 

"  I  have  not  heard  from  Montreal  since  Lent  com- 
menced.— Give  my  love  to  Mary,  and  any  of  my  ac- 
quaintances you  may  chance  to  see.  Pray  often  for 
yours,  with  much  love, 

Debbie,  enfant  de  Marie. 

"  Burlington,  April,  1856. 
"My  DearTante  St.  A :  I  should  have  ans- 
wered your  last  letter  long  ago,  but  I  was  waiting 
for  a  short  time,  that  I  might  have  some  good  news 
to  communicate  to  you,  and  surely  I  have  not  w^aited 
in  vain.  Helen  is  a  Catholic!  She  is  not  yet  baptis- 
ed, but  will  be  very  soon.  She  has  been  to  confes- 
sion twice,  and  has  written  to  father  and  mother  to 
obtain  their  consent.  1  have  not  much  hopes  of  her 
getting  it,  and  1  am  dreading  the  result.  I  assure  you. 
]  know  there  will  be  more  trouble  at  home  than  ever, 
and,  poor  people  !  they  will  think  the  plague  has  en- 
tered their  family.  I  presume  they  will  tliink  "  Deb- 
bie's inlluence"  is  terrible ;  and,  as  there  are  three 
•more  daughters,  they  will  fear  for  them.  I  hope  for 
nothing!  1  fear  evervthiufr  I  But  I  am  strong  enough 
to  bear  it.  It  is  coming  hard  for  Helen  as  well  as  for 
myself.  God  is  \\\y  strength,  and  with  His  assistance, 
and  the  protection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  my  cross  is 
a  light  one.  I  think  my  father  will  be  here  to-mor- 
row, for  they  must  have  received  our  letters  yester- 


■■JK- 


X 


70 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


(lay,  ami  they  will  ba  v^ry  much  astonished,  I  know. 
I  will  finish  my  letter  to-morrow.  Have  been  to 
Communion  to-day.  Oh  !  I  have  so  much  to  ask  for, 
so  much  to  be  thankful  for,  in  that  sacred  hour  when 
the  God  of  heaven  and  earth  comes  to  dwell  within 
my  soul !  So  many  desires-  to  lay  before  the  Sacred 
Heart  of  Jesus;  so  many  infirmities  to  mourn  over,  so 
much  grace  to  obtain !  It  is  a  happy  time,  and  each 
Communion  a  never-to-be-forgotten  one  !  I  have  had 
such  excellent  Directors  since  mj''  baptism,  also,  that 
confession  is  getting  to  be  such  a  glorious  privilege  ! 
How  often  I  wish  Protestants  could  jjo  to  Confession 
just  once  !  Their  horror  of  the  sacrament  of  penance 
would  be  removed  forever,  I  am  sure. — Tuesday  morn- 
ing— Helen  has  just  come  from  the  post-office  with 
tliree  letters ;  one  written  last  Saturday,  when  their 
indignation  was  at  its  height.  Monday,  that  was  yes- 
terday, they  wrote  the  others,  and  are  feeling  much 
more  resigned,  and  have  given  their  consent,  howev- 
er reluctant  it  wns.  Helen  will  therefore  be  baptized 
on  Thursday  next,  the  Feast  of  the  Ascension.  I 
am  sure  you  will  congratulate  me.  I  am  sure,  also, 
our  prayers  have  been  answered,  and  still  trust  tlie 
time  is  not  far  distant  when  all  dear  ones  at  home 
will  be  received  into  the  Catholic  Church." 

The  letter  which  Helen  wrote  requesting  the  con- 
sent of  her  parents,  and  to  which  her  sister  alludes 
in  the  foregoing,  I  will  now  give  : 

"  J/y  Lear  ParenU — This  lettrr  will  surprise  you 
much ;  but  as  you  read  it  I  have  only  one  request  to 
make :  regard  me  with  charity^  and  believe  that  I 
would  not  wound  your  feelings  for  worlds,  if  it  could 

be  avoided ;    but   I  have  confidence  in  you 

....  I  am  a  Catholic.  I  have  not  yet  made  a  pub- 
lic profession  of  my  faith,  but  my  mind  is  at  rest,  and 
1  desire  to  act  immediately.  The  tie  which  bound  me 
most  strongly  to  Protestantism  is  broken :  by  this  I 
mean  you  to  understand,  that  I  am  free  from  my  en- 
gagement with  Mr.  .     It  was  his  wish,  that  if  I 

decided  to  embrace  Catholicity,  our  engagement 
might  be  at  an  end;  and  yesterday  evening  1  return- 


.».     .  •■• 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


71 


ed  Ills  letters,  and  acquainted  him  vvitli  my  decision. 
It  has  leen  a  sacrifice^  l>iit  not  so  nmcli  liavo  I  suffered 
from  it,  as  I  do  from  the  thought  that  this  must  c^ke 
you  pain  !  But  life  is  short.  I  may  be  here  a  year,  a 
(lay,  an  liour,  and  then  comes  Eternity  !  You  will 
say  1  have  Leen  inlluenced  l)y  some  one.  My  decision 
was  made  without  the  hiowledge  of  a  living  peraon. — 
WJnj  I  have  doubted  the  truth  of  Catholicity  so  Jong, 
is  more  than  1  can  tell.  I  am  ready  to  act  under  any 
circumstances,  and  1  wish  I  might  gain  your  consent; 
but  I  hardly  dare  hope  for  it.  Think  not  to  change 
nic,  my  Faith  is  too  strong.  If  I  meet  with  your 
disjjleasure,  I  can  only  look  to  Heaven  for  assistance, 
and  bear  the  trial  with  all'the  fortitude  I  possess.  Be 
lenient  towards  mc — it  is  all  T  ask ;  and  if  I  have  to 
go  in  opposition  to  your  wishes — ■forgive.  I  shall 
expect  to  hear  from  you  soon.  Your  affectionate 
daughter,  Helen." 

When  the  reply  to  this  letter  was  received,  contain- 
ing the  consent  mentioned  in  that  of  our  dear  Debbie, 
the  sisters  lost  no  time  in  making  preparations  for  Hel- 
en's baptism.  The  arrangements  were  just  completed 
when  their  father  arrived,  he  having  been  called  to 
Burlington  on  some  business,  and  he  came  to  see 
them  upon  his  first  arrival.  Afcer  expressing  his  re- 
gret at  the  decision  she  felt  herself  bound  to  make,  ho 
repeated  his  '*  reluctant"  consent,  and  went  out  to  at- 
tend to  the  business  upon  which  he  came.  In  the 
course  of  an  hour  or  two  he  returned,  apparently  much 
excited,  and  made  some  severe  remarks,  concluding  by 
absolutelv  forbiddiucf  Helen  to  fulfdl  the  intention  she 
had  formed,  by  being  baptized.  The  sisters  were  per- 
fectly astounded  by  this  sudden  turn  in  their  affairs, 
but  knew  it  was  not  iheir  father's  own  sentiments  he 
was  uttering,  so  much  as  those  of  some  person  he  had 
met,  while  he  was  out.  When  he  first  came  and  while 
he  was  ])erfectly  calm,  he  had,  although  regretfully, 
confirmed  the  permission  given  in  his  letter,  and  Helen 
determined  to  act  upon  that  permission  in  accordance 
with  the  arrangements  she  had  previously  made.  I 
mention  these  circumstances  thus  minutely,  because 


.*•:-■' 


72 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


« 


*• 

1 

* 
f 


rIig  has  been  severely  censured  for  acting  contrary  to 
licr  father,s  injunctions  at  last.  He  felt  the  justice 
of  her  course  himself,  so  entirely,  that  he  never  re- 
proached her  for  it;  but  when  she  returned  homo, 
received  her  with  the  same  kindness  as  if  nothing  un- 
pleasant had  liaj)pened. 

Our  poor  Helen  !  It  would  have  seemed  that  her 
griefs  upon  another  score  were  already  sufficiently 
])oignant,  without  this  addition.  But  the  hand  of 
(jrod  was  in  it  all !  The  trials  which  had  darkened 
and  wounded  the  gentle  and  sensitive  heart  of  her 
sister,  would  have  glided  over  lier  sunny  spirit  like 
summer  clouds,  without  even  obscuring  its  brightness 
for  a  moment.  Therefore,  her  cross  was  fashioned  in 
a  different  mould.  But  thanks  be  to  God,  who  gave 
her  "the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ !"  She 
bowed  meekly,  even  joyously  to  the  heavy  burden, 
(none  the  less  heavy  for  her  loving  reception  of  it,)  and 
bore  it  with  the  same  generous  firmness  that  her  lovely 
sister  had  manifested  before  her.  Yet  was  the  conflict 
a  bitter  one ;  how  bitter  will  appear  in  these  lines 
written  by  her  in  one  of  Debbie's  letters'  to  her  friend, 
at  Yamachiche  on  the  day  of  her  baptism  : 

"  Will  you  pray^  ma  Tante,  for  one  who  loves  you 
dearly,  yet  deems  herself  unworthy  of  your  love. 
Passing  through  deep  waters  I  falter,  and  am  tempt- 
ed to  turn  back  !  God  alone  knows  what  I  have  suf- 
fered since  I  left  my  convent  home  !  I  trust  He  w'U 
give  me  grace  to  look  beyond  this  miseiaulr.  "t  rid 
for  hap])iness — that  happiness  which  He  alone*  cari 
give.     Will  you  pray  for  your  HeleN  !" 

On  the  second  of  May,  the  morning  after  Helen's 
baptism,  Debbie  wrote  to  her  mother,  in  reply  to  a 
letter  Helen  had  just  received  from  her. 

"BuRTjNGTON,  May  2d,  1856. 

"  My  Dear  Mother :  This  morning  I  thought  I 
would  write  you  a  few  lines,  and  I  am  sure  1  hope 
thoy  will  be  acceptable  ones,  Helen  would  write, 
but  I  thought,  perliaps,  I  could  spare  her  the  pain  of 
so  doing,  by  writing  for  her.  The  subject  of  my  let- 
ter is  to  be  the  answer  to  the  one  you  wrote  Helen 


I 


i 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEKTS. 


73 


concerning  Mr. 


I  will  assure  you  of  one  thing 


!s  you 
love. 
;empt- 
'C  suf- 
;e  w^U 
'"'f  rid 
lie  can 


i6. 
[gilt   I 
L  hope 
write, 
liain  ot" 
iiy  let- 
Helen 


r 


to  commence  with,  that  she  will  not  grow  poor,  nei- 
ther will  her  health  fail,  on  account  of  the  disengage- 
ment. I  can  tell  you  what  I  know  of  the  affafr,  and 
will  trif  not  to  use   ^Jesuitical  deception,''  in   doing  it. 

Last  winter  when  Mr. visited  Fairfield,  Helen 

told  him  that  she  thought  of  hecoming  a  Catholic, 
and  he  informed  her  that  if  it  should  be  so,  their  en- 
gagement would  be  broken.  He  tiien  requested  her 
to  send  his  letters  when  she  should  so  decide.  If  it 
had  beennif/  case  he  would  have  taken  them  then  !  After 
her  decision  to  unite  with  the  Church  was  made,  she 
wrote  to  him,  returned  his  letters,  etc,  as  he  had  re- 
(juestad.  I  think  the  affair  has  been  perfectly  hon- 
orable on  her  side.  She  has  only  done  what  his 
creed  declares  every  one  bound  to  do,  that  is,  act  ac- 
cording to  their  own  convictions;  and  that  they  are 
answerable  for  it  also.  It  pretends  to  be  a  Protest- 
ant principle,  ''judge  for  yourself,  and  act  accordingly.'* 
She  had  as  good  a  right  to  say  to  him,  *  Be  a  Catho- 
lic and  I  will  marry  you.'  as  he  had  to  require  her  to 
give  up  her  soul's  salvation  and  remain  a  Protestant, 
and  he  would  fulfill  his  promises.  But  he  will  remain 
where  he  ts',  in  perfect  ignorance  of  the  Catholic 
Faith,  believing  they  '  worship  images,'  '  pay  for  the 
remission  of  their  sins,'  etc.,  and  a  thousand  other 
iibominable  falsehoods,  and  require  her  to  join  with 
him  in  his  willful  blindness,  or  give  him  up.  ^  He 
hateti  the  name  of  Catholic  P  To  be  sure  he  does  ;  be- 
cause he  10111  do.no  other  way.  H'  his  love  for  her 
was  what  it  should  be,  he  would  look  with  charity  up- 
on her  faith,  and  have  some  respect  for  her  opinions. 
/  do  not  regret  that  she  has  become  settled  in  her 
uiiud,  for  if  she  had  married  that  gentleman,  I  should 
[sity  her  lot.  H"  she  did  not  agree  with  him  in  his 
religious  opinions  she  would  be  obliged  to  seem  to, 
and  her  life  would  indeed  be  one  of  misery.  I  have 
no  sympathy  for  him,  except  pity  for  his  foolishness ! 
Helen  is  very  contented;  says  she  thinks  she  is  quite 
as  good  now,  as  she  was  two  years  ago,  and  if  he 
choobeb  to  think  differently,  all  the  i^ame  to  her.     She 


I .  •  •  • 


•,  , ' 


74 


THE    YOUNG   CON VE UTS. 


m 


■t 


■  'I 


says  she  loved  the  ideal  not  the  real ;  and  I  doubt 
not  slie  will  live  and  very  happily  too,  if  he  has  chos- 
en to  withdraw  liis  promises.  Do  not  trouble  your- 
self, mother,  for  fear  it  will  have  a  bad  inlhiencc  up- 
on her  usually  joyous  spirits.  I  do  not  think  she  will 
think  less  of  those  persons  who  continue  to  treat  her 
the  same  as  ever.  Give  my  love  to  all  at  home,  and 
let  me  hear  from  you  soon.  Your  atfectionate  Deb- 
bie." 

A  few  days  later,  Helen  wrote  to  her  mother : 

"  BuRLiNOTox,  May  Gtii,  185G. 

"  My  Dear  Mother :  Yours  was  received  this 
morninjT,  Mother,  1  think  you  all  do  me  injustice. 
I  am  ?i()t  laboring  under  any  '  excitement.'  \\Uien  I 
tell  you  that  for  a  year  1  have  thought  and  read  up- 
on the  subject  a  great  deal,  will  you  believe  me  then  ? 
Will  you  tell  me  that  I  have  not  regarded  yours  or 

father's  feelings,  or  C 's  either,  when   I  tell  you 

that,  times  without  number,  I  have  wept,  in  the  pri- 
vacy of  my   own  a{)artment,  tears  of  hittp.r  anguish 
such   as   few  weep,  when   none   but   the  Eye  of   Al- 
mighty God,  my  Heavenly    Father,   was  upon   me. 
When   I  tell  you  that   at   times  1  have  felt  as   if   I 
could  give  up  my  soul's  eternal  salvation  rather  than 
my  eartkh/  love,  tv'ill  you  say  that  I  have  regarded  no 
one's  feelings  ?     Oh,  mother,  you  cannot  think   so  ! 
You  at  hast  will  be  my  friend  /     You  ivill  think  that 
I  have  loved  at  least  as  truly  as  I  have  been  loved.     I 
do  not  wish — \  shall  never  wish  to  retrace  the  steps  I 
have  taken.     I  have  acted  too  delihcrayiij  to  be  mistak- 
en.    I  knoiv  that  I  cannot    change  !     I  am  confident 
that  God  has  been  with  me  through  all,  that  his  Holy 
Spirit  has    guided  me,  and  aright.     1  knew  all    that 
would  be  said.     I  knew  all  that  would  be  done ;    and 
I  felt  for  a  while  as  if  i  should  sink  beneath  the  load. 
But  now,  ever  since  i\\Q  first  drops  of  the  baptismal  waters 
fell  upon  my  head,  have  I  felt  strengthened  to  bear  ev- 
ery thing  and  any  thing  for  Him  who  died  for  me,  and 
has  brought  me  to  the  true  faith  of  His  Holy  Catholic 
Church.     Mother !   think  not  that  I  shall  change  or 
regret  the  steps  I  have  taken,  for  I  shall  not.     I  feel 


pe 

^v 

to 

go 

soo. 

nie 


TUE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


75 


I   me. 
if   I 
'  than 
eil  no 
k  sol 
tliat 
ed.     I 
teps  I 
nistah- 
^ifident 
'Holy 
that 
and 
load- 
ivaters 
jar  ev- 
^e,  and 
itlioUc 
\nqe  or 
ifeel 


for  yon,  but  I  cannot  see  wherein  I  have  done  wron^, 
at  least  as  regards  you  and  fatlier.     If  you   think  I 

have  acted  a  dishonorable  part    towards  C s,  I 

can  only  refer  you  to  him,  and  he  perhaps  will  do  mo 
justice.  I  was  baptized  on  Thursday,  the  first  of 
May,  in  the  presence  of  quite  a  number  of  Protes- 
tants and  some  Catholics.  I  do  not  regret  it,  nor 
ever  shall !  Debbie  wrote  home  a  few  days  since. 
She  would  like  to  hear  from  you.  Give  my  love  to 
all.     I  remain,  your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Hklev." 

Debbie  writes  soon  after  :  "May  10th.  Mv  Dear 
Mother — Helen  received  yours  of  the  7th,  and  as  she 
intends  to  write  to  E to-day,  wished  me  to  an- 
swer yours.  I  am  in  hopes  to  write  to  E my- 
self, this  evening,  and  if  I  do  not,  say  to  her  for  mo 
that  I  hope  she  will  not  trouble  herself  too  much 

about  C s.     I  do  not  think  his  apparent  want  of 

feeling  has  raised  him  in  Helen's  estimation,  and  as 
for  myself  it  makes  but  little  difference  what  I  think 
of  it.  Her  letter  to  him  was  expressive  of  her  true 
feelings  towards  him,  and  though  she  knew  that  ho 
wished  to  be  nothing  more  than  an  acquaintance  af- 
ter her  profession  of  the  Catholic  faith,  she  told  him 
she  had  the  same  sentiments  of  friendship  for  him  as 
ever,  and  that  she  should  continue  to  have.  His  reply 
was  one  which  I  should  hardly  have  expected  from  a 
poison  of  any  amount  of  feeling,  and  I  think  Helen  will 
will  trouble  herself  but  very  little  hereafter  about  the 
matter.  He  addressed  her,  '  Miss  Barlow,'  thanked 
her  for  her  '  oft'ered  friendship,'  as  much  as  to  decline 
receiving  it.  To  make  his  indifference  more  mani- 
fest, he  wrote  on  a  half  sheet  of  paper  with  a  lead 
pencil !  I  have  given  you  the  sum  and  amount  of 
what  I  know  about  it.  She  has  received  her  letters 
to  him,  and  destroyed  them.  We  shall  be  ready  to 
go  home  in  about  two  weeks. 
soon.  Let  us  hear  from  you. 
niember  me  to  all.     In  haste, 

"  Drbrie  Barloav." 

I  have  given  this  circumstantial  account,  written 


I  will  write  you  again 
Helen  sends  love.     Ee- 


<*■  '■ 


i-. 


>•  , 


m^: 


76 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEUTfci. 


it 


f . 


by  themselves,  of  an  affair  which  would  not  have  been 
even  alluded  to  in  this  work,  but  for  the  prross  mis- 
representations that  have  been  spread,  and  the  ab- 
surd and  unfounded  reports  that  have  prevailed  in 
relation  to  it. 

The  next  letter  we  liave  from  Debbie  to  her  friend 
at  Yamachiche,  was  written  at  Fairfield,  "  June  8tii, 
1856 A  few  moments  I  will  be  with  you  to- 
night in  spirit,  but  it  is  denied  me  to  be  with  you 
really.  How  I  wish  the  privilege  was  mine  to  spend 
a  short  time  in  my  convent  home,  but  it  seems  im- 
possible. Everything  works  against  me  in  that 
project.  I  may  not  see  you  this  summer,  but  one 
thing  is  certain,  I  shall  not  be  a  great  while  longer 
waiting  to  visit  Montreal,  for  1  am  determined  to  go 
there  the  first  time  1  leave  home  for  any  length  of 
time.  How  often  1  tcwA  1  could  be  with  you  once 
more  !  This  morning  I  approached  Holy  Commun- 
ion, and  if  I  could  be  allowed  to  express  the  joy  of 
my  soul  to  you,  ma  Tante,  you  would  think  Debbie 
never  had  cause  to  regret  that  she  became  a  Catho- 
lic !  To  be  sure,  I  s/jmetimes  feel  myself  deprived 
of  the  presence  of  God,  and  sometimes^  1  could  be  al- 
most discouraged  at  my  coldness,  my  lukewarm  pray- 
ers and  devotions;  but  1  know  if  I  submit  to  His 
holy  will  and  bear  these  interior  trials  with  patience, 
that  He  will  not  forsake  me.  As  little  as  I  deserve 
the  many  mercies  Jesus  be^vtows  upon  me,  I  must  not 
complain  if  I  am  often  in  darkness.  I  wish,  ma  Tan- 
te, that  I  could  become  a  saint !  Is  it  wrong  to 
speak  so  freely  ?  But  oh,  how  much  more  than  the 
dedre  it  requires  !  To  winh  to  go  on  in  the  way  of 
perfection,  is  only  a  little  part  of  the  worli.  The  hill 
seems  often  times  so  long,  and  I  fall  so  frequently, 
that  I  should  almost  give  up,  if  I  could  not  look  be- 
side me  and  see  Jenwi  ready  and  willing  to  assist  His 
•weary  child.  Sometimes  I  think  thk  life  a  long,  time 
— 80  little  progress  in  the  spiritual  life.  Good  reso- 
lutions— confessions — communions — and  immediately 
after,  perhaps,  we  offend  Almighty  God  !  ....  I 
may  be  saying  too  much ;    it  might  be  better  if  I 


ij! 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


77 


k(f])t  these  tlilnj^s  wltliin  myself;    still,  T  know  you 
feel  an  interest   in  nie,  and   would  like  to  know  my 
feelinjT'',  an<l   how  your   '  ])auvre  enfant'   enjoys  her 
Catholic    life.     'Enjoys  it?'     Indeed  I,  do!     What 
would  life   he,  if  God  had   not  been  so  merciful,  and 
enli^fhtened  my  poor  soul  ?     What  should  I  do  with- 
out the  sacrament  of  penance  ?     How  could   I   exist 
note  if  the  Hacrament  of  the  Altar;  the  Bread  of  An- 
gels, were  taken  from  me  ?     Oh,  God  !     Rather  let 
me  cean*;  to  be^  than  ever  be  deprived  >     Faith:     And 
do  you  remember  where   I  first  learned  to  love  the 
trutfi*  of  Christ's  Church  ?      Oh,  my  convent  home  ! 
(iood    Friday !     and   the  passion    of    Jesus  Christ ! 
When  will  ye  be  forgotten  ?     When  shall  I  cease  to 
think  of  the  gifts  bestowed  upon  me  in  Marifs  Chap- 
el^ on  the  day  that  a  God  was  crucified  for  man ;   and 
when  His  sacred  passion  was,  as  it  were,  placed  be- 
fore rny  son  I  in  its  plainest   light.     Oh,  passion  of 
Jesus  Christ !  who  should  be  devoted  to  thee  ?     Sure- 
ly, it  is  / — but  how  cold  I  am,  even  at  the  sight  of  a 
crucifir.     Oh,  ma  Tante,  if  I    co  ild  only  have   my 
heart  filled  with  the  love  of  my  Saviour  !     And  will 
you  not  often  pray  that  it  may  be  so  ?     I  expect  to 
pass  this  summer  at  home."      ....     Again,  on  the 
24th  of  June,  Debbie  wrote  to  the  same  friend  from 
Fairfield.     After  expressing  her  earnest  desire  to  go 
V)  Montreal  to  pass  the  next  Christmas,  if  she  could 
not  be  allowed  to  go  before,  and  her  fears  that  her 
parents  would  not  consent,  mentioning  also  their  ap- 
prehensions that  Helen  would  desire  to  enter  a  con- 
vent, she  adds  :     "  I  presume  they  think   there  is  no 
danger  of  me.     I  do  not>  think  they  need  fear  much, 
for  I  am  sure   I  have   a  mission  at  home  yet,  and  in 
fact  1  think  converts  as  often  find  it  their  vocation  to 
remain  in  the  world  as  otherwise.     I  am  satisfied  to 
do  what  is  riV/A/,  any  way,  and  if   I  am  to  remain 
where  I  ara,  I  am  willing.     If  1  am  to  go  somewhere 
else,  just  as  well  satisfied.     I  only  ask  grace  and  as- 
sistance of  Almighty  God  to  do  His  blessed  will,  and 
then  I  can  say,  '  Will  what  Thou  pleasest  ?'     Helen's 
conversion  has  aroused  opposition  anew,  and  I  think 


■IffI 


78 


THE    YOUNG   CONVKUTS. 


■J  -11*1 


4  iill 


■t''      ; 


my  father  is  move  picjudiccil  tlian  ever  ar;alnst  our 
Holy  Faith.  I  soiiietiiiie.s  tliiiik  it'  /  were  u  bdler 
Catholic,  it  might  chanjj^e  his  ideas  houio.  if  tiio  ex- 
ample were  better,  the  ejfect  niij^ht  be  {greater.  But 
oh  !  poor  human  nature — so  liable  to  err,  so  weak,  so 
frail.  I  fear,  I  trenihky  when  I  think  how  many 
things  I  c?o,  that  may  produce  a  wrong  impression  up- 
on the  minds  of  those  around  me  !  U^hat  an  example 
mine  ouyht  to  be,  and  how  far  short  it  falls  !  ....  I 
Imve  just  returned  from  the  church.  We  have  had 
the  privilege,  for  a  few  weeks  past,  of  having  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  with  us,  and  every  day  I  can  go 
and  lay  all  my  wants  before  Uim,  whoso  home  is  in 
yonder  humble  dwelling,  there  to  receive  the  graces 
which  He  daily  distributes  to  His  unworthy  creatures. 
Oh !  when  He  condescends  to  come  and  make  His 
abode  with  us,  what  more  can  we  ask  ?  Oh,  Blessed 
Sacrament !  what  were  the  world  without  Thee  ! 
■what  a  weary  waste,  what  an  endless  journey  to 
Heaven  it  would  be  !  Ah,  ma  Tante,  what  a  gift  of 
faith  was  that  when  Jesus  taught  me  to  believe  in  His 
Ileal  Presence  in  the  Holy  Eucharist !  Given  it  was, 
almost  without  asking,  and  why  to  me  ?  Oh,  the 
goodness  of  God,  the  treasures  of  His  Mercy  !"   .... 

During  that  month,  Helen  wrote  to  the  same  friend 
at  Yamachiche  : 

"  Fairfeild,  June  28th,  1850.  My  Dear  Tante— 
It  made  me  so  happy  to  receive  those  few  lines  from 
you  ;  I  did  not  expect  them,  and  was  very  much  sur- 
prised when  they  came.  Dear  Tante,  do  you  remem- 
ber what  you  said  to  me  a  short  time  before  I  left  the 
convent  ?  I  never^  never  could  forget  it,  or  the  circum- 
stances that  led  you  to  say  what  you  did.  I  do  not 
blame  you  ;  you  believed  as  tliey  told  you,  and  I  was 
too  proud  to  explain,  as  long  as  you  did  not  ask  me 
for  an  explanation.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  before  I 
went  to  the  convent,  God  called  me  to  be  a  Catholic  ? 
or  rather  He  told  me  that  I  might  find  peace  and  truth 
in  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic  Church ;  and  that 
mother  found  one  day  in  my  room  a  book  that  I  was 
reading,  and  forbade  me  to  finish  it.     I  laid  the  book 


•ii 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


79 


aside,  fori  darod  not  disolicy ;  l)iit  T  nover  forpot  the 
impression  I  had  received.  And  when,  some  time 
after,  she  told  me  that  T  was  to  pro  to  tl»n  convent, 
how  1  wept  for  j<ty,  and  how  shiwiy  tlio  titne  passed 
till  L  found  myself  withiu  the  convent  walls.  Did  1 
ever  tell  yon  all  this  ?  I  think  not,  and  yet  it  is  true. 
Oh  !  how  often  1  wished  to  tell  you  just  how  I  felt, 
but  I  could  not ;  times  without  numher  were  the  words 
upon  my  lips,  and  one  moment  mpre  -would  have  sav- 
ed me  untcdd  ^rief ;  but  the  time  would  puss  on,  the 
words  were  not  said,  and  I  would  turn  away  more  un- 
happy than  before;  and  then  at  those  times  I  would 
do  something  that  would  most  offend  my  teachers. 
U'his  is  my  nature.  The  last  few  weeks  of  my  stay 
there  I  cared  for  nothino; — for  no  one.  I  was  not  lov- 
ed ;  no  one  could  understand  me,  not  even  yov.,  ma 
Tante,  so  I  cast  all  feelings  aside;  only  at  night, 
when  all  else  were  asleep,  would  I  give  way  to  my 
feelings.  Often  would  I  get  up  from  my  bed  (re- 
gardless of  the  r«/<?,  I  did  not  care  for  that^)  and  go 
into  the  chapel  and  kneel  there  till  I  dared  stay  no 
longer!    then  i  would  go  buck  and  weep  myself  to 

sleep 

"  I  used  to  sit  sometimes  and  watch  the  moon  till 
I  could  see  it  no  longer,  and  wish  that  I  was  anywhere 
but  there,  for  I  was  not  happy,  1  never  went  into 
the  garden,  but  often  wanted  to  go,  for  1  thought  that 
the  night  air  would  be  so  refreshing.  I  started  to  go 
once,  but  I  gave  it  up  for  fear  of  discovery.  You  are 
surprised,  I  know,  but  this  is  true.  I  thought  I  would 
tell  this  to  you,  my  well-beloved  Tante,  that  you 
miijht  know  mv  faults.  You  know  all  1  conuiiitted  ex- 
copt  these  (and  some  more  that  J  did  not  commit  at  all !) 
Is  it  strange,  dear  Tante,  that  when  I  came  home 
and  saw  one  who  loved  me,  who  could  read  my  heart 
like  a  hooh.  and  asked  me  to  love  him  in  return,  is  it 
strange  that  I  loved  him  as  fervently  as  I  did?  and  I 
lived  on  in  that  love,  forgetting  that  aught  could 
shadow  its  brightness;  but  again,  God  in  His  mercy 
called  me,  and,  dear  Tante,  I  have  given  up  my  earth- 
ly treasure  for  a  better  one  in  Heaven !     I  have  now 


7^ 


80 


THE    YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


'5'    ili: 


-ill    'il^ 


K>l       'If 


■:-t     1 


•tt 


found  abiding  rest ;  I  care  not  for  tlie  love  of  tlie 
world,  only  as  it  will  please  God  to  bestow  it  upon 
me.  I  do  tliank  the  Blessed  Virgin  that  I  am  a  Cath- 
olic. Our  Holy  Mother  has  interceded  for  me  at  the 
throne  of  Grace,  I  know ;  and  now  1  look  to  her  to  ob- 
tain the  grace  for  me  to  love  my  Saviour  more,  and  will 
you  hel])  me  too,  my  lest  friend,  to  obtain  such  a 
favor.  I  am  watching  in  patience  through  the  dark 
hours.  I  am  willinji:  to  lav  at  the  low  footstool  of 
the  Crucified  my  treasures,  every  one,  and  take  His 
cross  and  bear  it  throuf;h  the  hours  of  darkness  till 
the  dawn  of  day,  and  then  I  will  lay  it  down  and  go 
Lome  to  my  rest.  I  thank  yon,  dear  Tante'  for  that 
sweet  picture.  My  saviour  crucified :  and  my  sins 
the  cause  of  His  sufferings !  ^Vhen  will  the  time 
come  when  I  shall  sin  no  more  ?  Oh,  my  sweet  Tante^ 
I  wish  I  could  go  to  Montreal !  but  I  cannot  this  sum- 
mer ;  it  does  seem  as  if  1  could  not  wait,  but  would 
fty  to  you !  You  know  my  antipathy  to  letter-writ- 
ing ;  do  l.et  this  be  my  excuse  for  this  frightful  look- 
ing letter.  I  have  not  practiced  much  since  I  left  th.e 
dear  convent.  If  You  can  have  patience  with  me^ 
will  you,  sweet  Xante,  write  again  to  your  loving  child, 

"  Helen" 
Soon  after  this  letter  was  written,  we  received  our 
first  visit  from  the  beautiful  sisters,  in  our  secluded 
home.  We  met  them  in  church  at  St.  Albans,  on. 
Sunday.  They  were  accompanied  by  an  interesting 
young  friend  and  convent  coni)anion,  who  was  visiting 
them  from  Boston,  (the"  Jennie'' of  Debbie's  letters,) 
and  the  three  were  there,  passing  a  few  days  at  the 
pleasant  home  of  another  convent  schoolmate,  (Cora," 
mentioned  by  Debbie)  just  out  of  the  village  of  St. 
Albans.  As  we  were  there  with  a  single  carriage,  we 
made  arrangements  to  send  a  double  one  to  convey 
them  and  their  young  friends  to  our  place  in  thft  even- 
ina:.  We  have  ever  remembered  that  visit  as  one  of 
the  few  green  spots  which  have  enlivened  our  soli- 
tary journey  on  the  down-hill  of  life.  The  music  of 
their  clear,  sweet  voices  united  in  singing  the  soul- 
stirring  hymns  of   their  ''dear,  convent  home  ;"  tho 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


81 


clieorfal  conversations," the  innocent  mirthfulness,  the 
merry  pranks  of  our  sparkling  and  mischief-loving 
Helen,. which  were  fully  entered  into  by  her  lovely 
conpanions,  and  enjoyed  to  the  utmost  by  her  more 
sedate  and  quiet  sister,(who  watched  her  with  fond 
pride,  and  with  more  of  a  mother's  then  a  sister's  ten- 
derness;) the  visits  from  some  of  the  young  sons  of 
our  dear  friends,  and  from  our  neighbors  ;  the  ram- 
bles in  the  woods,  the  rides  on  horseback,  the  drives, 
the  evening  pastimes,  and  above  all  the  fervent,  united 
prayers  which  closed  each  day  all,  r,U  are  before  me 
now,  and  even  while  I  am  writing  ff  them,  I  pause 
to  ask  myself,  is  it  indeed  true  that  they  who  were  the 
means  of  bringing  to  our  solitudes  the  "  angel  hours" 
of  that  delightful  dream,  have  passed  away  in  the 
spring-time  of  their  life,  and  the  freshness  of  their 
bloom,  to  adorn  the  gardens  of  paradise,  and  to  rejoice 
in  the  society  of  the  saints  and  angels,  unto  whom 
their  pure  spirits  were  uuited  even  in  this  bleak 
world  ! 


\.    : 


\'f 


•J- 


," 


CHAPTER   VI. 


In  July,  1856, 'to  the  great  joy  of  onr  dear  Debbie, 
her  parents  at  length  consented  to  her  making  the 
long  desired  visit  to  Montreal,  and  even  to  her  re- 
maining a  year  in  Canada  to  pursue  the  study  of 
French,  if  she  could  make  satisfactory  arrangements 
tc  that  end.  She  was  engaged  in  her  preparations 
for  departure,  and  absorbed  in  the  most  joyful  antici- 
pations of  the  pleasures  which  awaited  her  in  her 
"convent  home,"  until  she  set  out  on  the  first  of  Sep- 
tember, 1856,  upon  which  day  she  began  the  Diary 
from  which  I  shall  give  some  extracts,  as  well  as  from 
her  letters  to  her  familv  and  friends  during  her  ab- 
sence. It  is  a  matter  of  deep  regret  that  the  sisters 
destroyed  all  the  letters  they  had  each  received,  pre- 
vious to  their  respective  deaths.  Had  their  corres- 
pondence with  each  other  been  preserved,  it  would 
doubtless  have  added  materially  to  the  interest  of  this 
biography. 

The  first  entry  in  the  Diary  is  Septemler  Ist^  1850: 
*'  Left  Fairfield  this  morning  for  Montreal ;  arrived 
in  St.  Albans,  and  spent  the  night  at  Mr.  Hoyt's. 
Found  all  well,  and  in  a  state  of  excitement ;  Willie 
was  going  to  Canada^  too  September  2d — At  Rouse's 
P>;)int  I  found  that  some  of  my  convent  friends  were 
on  the  cars.  To-morrow  !  to-morrow  ! — September  3r? 
— Once  more  in  the  convent !  How  can  I  say  any- 
thing ?  Three  years  have  flown  away  since  I  left  it. 
I  say  Jloum  away,  not  swiftly,  though,  for  time  has 
passed  slowly  and  heavily  since  I  bade  adieu  to  this 
loved  spot.  The  days,  weeks,  months  and  years  have 
brought  with  them  many  changes — some  happy  ones 
—-some  sad.     When  I  left  I  was  without  the  Church 


Hi 


dii 
m 

lor 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS, 


S3 


ab- 


)Uld 

this 

850: 
rived 
oyt's. 
Villic 
use's 
were 
her  ^d 
aiiy- 
eft  it. 
has 
0  this 
have 
ones 
hurch 


of  God,  (hut  desired  it  then.)     Dark  days  were  those, 
but  my  heart  liad  received  impressions  within  those 
convent  wall*  never  to  be  forgotten  !     Jesus,  in  His 
great  mercy  did  not  forget  me.     He  has  fought  the 
fitrht  for  His  weak  cliild,  and  in  the  excess  of  His  love 
has  placed  her  in  the  "  Ark  of  Safety."     All  glory  to 
His  Holy  Name  !     He  has  also  called  one  who  is  near 
and  dear  to  me,  and  guided  her  footsteps  into  the 
path  of  salvation.     But,  again  I  am  in  my  convent 
home  !     Can  it  be  ?     Is  it  possible  ?     It  is  even  so. 
Evervthing:  looks  the  same.     I  have  been  to  the  nun's 
chapel.     Is  it,  O,  my  God,  a  reality  ?     Shall  I  not 
wake  and  find  it  a  dream  ?     I  have  closed  my  eyes, 
and  dreaded  to  open  them  for  fear.     But  I  a'li  right. 
Those  are  the  same  paintings,  the  same  altars  and 
statues,  and  even  the  same  venerable  old  priest  who 
said  Mass  for  us  every  morning  three  years  ago,  is 
offering  up  the  Adorable  Sacrifice.     And  I  have  seen 
all  my  beloved  teachers,  among  them  ma  Tante  St. 
A. — she  who  had  the  greatest  care  for  my  salvation; 
she  to  whom  1  owe  every  thing.     If  to-day  I  possess 
faith — if  to-day  I  am  a  Catholic,  it  is  to  her  prayers 
that  I  owe  it.     If  I  am  now  a  child  of  Mary,  it  was 
she  who  gave  me  my  first  knowledge  of  the  devotion 
to  that  sweet  Mother.     If  I  was  led  to  inquire  for  the 
truth,  it  was  ma  Tante  who  gave  me  the  first  book; 
and  I  have  seen  her  again,  my  friend — mi/  more  than 
friend,  ten  thonsand  times  more  than  that !     She  loved 
my  soul  because  Jesus  Christ  died  to  save  it.     Her  re- 
ward is  in  Heaven.     The  day  has  passed  in  a  contin- 
ual visit !      I  have  seen  every  one — been   in   every 
room.     Not  much  is  changed,  nothing  but  myself. 

September  4th — Slept  sweetly  in  my  convent  home 
last  night ;  no  bad  dreams  to  disturb  me,  and  joyous, 
happy  faces,  this  morning  to  meet  my  gaze.  Happy 
child  am  I,  once  more  to  have  returned  !  The  con- 
vent walls,  which  once  looked  so  gray,  so  dark,  so 
dismal,  now  the  sight  of  them  makes  my  heart  leap  to 
my  mouth  for  joy.  Happy  days  !  In  after-life  I  will 
look  back  and  call  them  blessed 

September   17th — Sunday   Vespers — dear    convent 


'-.^f 


84 


THE   YOUNQ   CONVERTS. 


.    .  •» 


■i 


home  ?  TJiis  brings  back  oibor  days.  Can  it  be  I 
am  here  once  more  ?  I  have  dreamed  it  many  times^ 
but — awoke — and  now  it  is  reality  !  lihe  "Magnifi- 
cat" is  as  beautiful  as  ever,  and  the  '*  Ave  Maris  Stel- 
la" sounds  strangely  familiar,  but  a  trifle  siveeter,  and 
is  a  trifle  more  touching  to  the  soul,  than  three  years 

ago 

September  Sth — Feast  of  the  Nativity  of  the  Bless- 
ed Virgin  ;  joyous,  happy  feast  I  received  Holy  Com- 
munion in  Mary's  chapel  this  mornii.g.  Here  in  this 
little  chapel,  the  place  dearest  to  me  on  earth,  I  am 
at  last  allowed  to  partake  of  that  Sacred  Banquet 
■which  Jesus  has  prepared  for  His  children.  I  used 
to  watch  those  who  approached  to  receive  His  pre- 
cious Body  and  Blood,  and  wondered  if  the  time 
would  ever  come,  when  I  also  shonld  enjoy  the  same 
privilege  ;  and  here,  too,  before  the  same  Altar  where 
I  first  felt  that  a  God  was  realli/  present.  Tlie  time 
has  come,  and  I  can  only  say  in  my  heart  (for  lips 
cannot  speak  their  meaning),  Thanks  be  to  Thee,  O, 
my  God  !  Thou  hast  remembered  me  when  my  soul 
was  lost  in  darkness ;  Tliou  hast  shown  me  the  path 
wherein  I  should  walk,  and  guided  me  in  the  way  of 
salvation, 

Septcmler  10/!A — Bade  adieu  to  the  dear  convent 
and  all  the  loved  ones  there,  and  started  this  after- 
noon for  the  mission  convent  at  St.  Eustache  with  ma 
Tante  St,  A.,  who  was  now  removed  from  Yama- 
chiche  to  Eustache, 

"  St.  Eustache,  Sept.  12t:t,  1856 — Friday  Even- 
ing. My  dear  Mother :  I  am  just  getting  settled  at 
St.  Eustache ;  have  written  a  long  letter  to  Helen, 
and  must  tell  you  how  I  am  pleased  witli  the  place, 
my  prospects,  etc.  St.  Eustache  is  a  very  pleasant 
village,  aaout  twenty  miles  from  Montreal.  It  is  not 
on  the  St.  Lawrence,  but  on  a  branch  of  that  river. 
The  convent  is  pleasantly  situated,  the  river  passing 
just  back  of  it,  while  the  church  and  burial-place  is 
on  the  right,  and  a  very  pretty  yard  in  front.  St.  A. 
is  with  me,  and  two  French  nuns.  Everything  seems 
for  my  advantage  now.     The  Sisters  are  very  agree- 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


8^ 


ai^i'ce 


aLlc  peisoiis;  l)ut  I  must  learn  French  liefore  I  can 
speak  much  with  them.  I  find  tlic  scholars  most,  if 
not  all,  French,  and  I  think  I  shall  not  fail  to  improve. 
AVe  came  to  St.  Eustache  by  carriage,  and,  being  on- 
ly twenty  miles,  found  it  quite  an  agreeable  drive. 
Before  leaving  Montreal,  Bt.  A's  father  came  from 
Quebec  to  the  city  with  his  daughter,  to  place  her  at 
Villa  Maria,  and  I  wont  with  them  to  that  place.  St. 
A.  went  with  us.  Her  sister  is  a  lovely  girl,  and 
has  been  in  the  convent  since  I  left.  I  had  a  nice 
visit  with  them,  I  assure  you.  St.  A.  remembers 
you  well,  and  father  also.  As  she  is  with  me,  I  do 
not  think  I  shall  have  any  trouble  in  getting  along. 
The  school  is  not  large — twenty  boarders,  and  as 
many  day  scholars.  How  are  all  at  home?  Grand- 
mother, I  snppose,  is  as  usual.  The  girls  I  trust,  are 
well,  and  father  is,  I  presume,  as  much  engaged  in 
political  affairs  as  ever.  You  must  let  me  hear  often 
from  home.  You  see  I  have  commenced  well.  I  have 
vritten  twice,  and  this  is  the  third  time  in  two 
/eeks.  How  is  E — ,  and  her  little  one  ?  Give  my 
love  to  her — also  to  any  of  my  friends  who  inquire. 
I  am  very  well,  and  think  I  shall  be,  for  this  place  is 

very  healthy.      Write  soon Love  to  all  the 

girls  ;   tell  them  to  write  to  me  ;  and  father,  also 

"  Debbie  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Marie^ 

We  extract  from  the  Diary.  "  September  21s/ — 
Went  to  confession  this  morning,  and  received  Holy 
Communion  ;  a  happy  day  of  course,  how  cotdd  it  be 
otherwise  ?  Feast  of  our  Lady  of  seven  Dolors,  one 
of  my  favorite  days." 

"  Convent  of  the  Conoreoation,  \ 
St.  Eustache,  Oct.  2c?,  1856.      S 

"  My  own  Dear  Carrie  :  Why  ask  forgiveness  of 
one  who  loves  you  so  much  that  she  never  felt  for 
one  moment  that  she  had  any  thing  to  forgiNO  'r*  I 
knew  that  there  must  be  some  good  reason  for  your 
not  writing,  and  I  should  have  written  again,  but  I 
knew  not  where  to  direct  a  letter. 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  was  very  much  astonished 
\ylmn  your  letter  was  brought  to  me ;    and  when  I 


8G 


THE    YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


iii: 


found  who  it  was  from,  I  could  not  refrain  from  ex- 
pressinf^  my  delight.  Its  length  did  not  disturb  me, 
dear  Carrie  ;  I  would  not  have  had  it  one  line  short- 
er. Every  word  of  it  was  what  I  could  have  expect- 
ed from  yon.  I  am  not  long  in  answering,  you  per- 
ceive, and  I  never  shall  be  when  you  write.  Remem- 
ber this,  will  you  not,  my  friend  ? 

"  I  suppose  I  am  indebted  to  C — s  for  your  letter. 
Indeed  I  am  very  thankful  to  him.  Where  was  he 
going  when  you  saw  him — to  St.  Mary's  ?  And  Jen- 
nie— you  did  not  see  her,  I  suppose.  Hhe  visited  me, 
it  is  true ;  but  I  fear  she  could  riot  enjoy  her  visit 
much  at  Fairfield.     Have  you  heard  from  her  ? 

"  So,  Carrie  dear,  you  are  going  South  to  teach. 
I  presume  you  will  like  it,  and  I  wish  you  all  manner 
of  good  success.  There  are  worse  things,  my  dear 
friend,  than  teaching ;  and  you  will  find  this  to  be 
true,  I  am  confident.  I  ^m  well  pleased  with  it  my- 
self, so  far  at  least ;  and  I  am  well.  My  health  has 
not  been  so  good  since  I  left  Montreal  as  it  is  now, 
and  I  think  it  will  continue  so.  I  expect  to  remain 
ft  year,  and  then  I  presume  they  will  want  me  at 
home  again. 

"  I  came  rather  suddenly,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
was  delighted  to  see  my  convent  home  once  more.  I 
reached  Montreal  at  night,  and  went  to  a  public 
iiouse.  In  the  morning,  before  breakfast,  I  went  to 
the  convent.  The  first  person  I  saw  was  St.  S — . 
She  knew  me  immediatelT,  even  before  I  did  her. 
The  bell  was  ringing  for  Mass,  and  without  waiting 
to  see  any  one  else,  I  threw  down  my  things  and 
hastened -to  the  chapel.  I  entered  on  the  gallery — 
Mr.  C —  was  saying  Mass  at  the  Altar  of  Our  Lady 
of  the  Seven  Dolors.  The  nun's  confessor  was  there 
as  usual,  and  my  own  dear  St.  A —  knelt  by  the  con- 
fessional. Every  thing  looked  unchanged,  and  /, 
alone,  was  changed.  My  first  thought  was  to  return 
thanks  to  Almighty  God  for  His  great  mercy  to  me, 
and  the  moments  I  spent  there  that  mo*-ning  will 
never  be  forgotten.  When  I  left  the  chapel,  ma 
Taute,  N — 's  room  was  my  first  thought :    I  went 


ami 
I 
iblic 
it  to 
8— . 
her. 
iting 
and 
TV- 
Lady 
here 
con- 
d   /, 
jturii 
■  me, 
will 
,  nia 
went 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


87 


alone,  and  Rt.  M —  and  ma  Tante  stood  with  their 
hacks  toward  tlie  door.  I  coidd  only  say  :  ma  Tan- 
te N — /  The^'  knew  my  voice,  and  I  assure  you  1 
could  hardly  keep  l)ack  the  tears  at  that  meetin<^  !  I 
was  weak  and  sick,  and  almost  worn  out  with  trouble, 
and  my  happiness  at  gcttini^  back  was  too  much  for 
me.  Search  was  made  immediately  for  St.  A — ,  and 
it  seemed  an  hour  before  the  was  found.  Need  I 
speak  of  that  meetinfj?  You  know  that  to  her  I  owe 
every  thing.  Yes,  indeed  !  I  was  overjoyed.  I  first 
saw  St.  E —  in  one  of  the  halls  near  the  community. 
She  laiew  me  before  I  came  near  her.  She  is  the 
same  as  ever  ;  more  lovely,  if  possible,  for  she  has 
been  very  sick,  and  is  rather  pale  and  thin.  I  staid 
in  Montreal  a  week — went  to  Maria  Villa  and  staid 
three  days.  Many  of  the  nuns  inquired  for  you. 
The  Sunday  before  I  came  to  St  Eustache  I  went  up 
to  St.  Patrick's  tofjo  to  Confession.  Saw  our  excel- 
lent Father  Connelly.  He  was  much  surprised  to  see 
me,  of  course,  bur  appeared  really  delighted.  Mon- 
day morning  I  received  Holy  Communion  in  the 
dear  little  chapel.  Of  course  I  was  happy.  In 
the  same  place  where,  three  years  ago,  I  received  my 
first  impressions  of  the  truth  of  Catholicity,  I  this 
day  received  the  precious  Body  and  Blood  of  my 
Saviour.  How  could  I  but  feel  that  I  would  fain  of- 
fer nivself  entirelv  to  Him  who  offered  Himself  an 
entire  oblation  for  mo  upon  the  Cross.  I  know  not, 
Carrie  dear,  that  I  can  say  anything  of  my  happiness 
that  mornino;.  You  can  imamne  better  than  I  can 
express  it  to  you. 

I  came  to  St.  Eustache,  and  now  with  dear  St.  A — 
I  am  spending  some  of  the  hapi)icst  days  of  my  life. 
She  was  in  Montreal  vesterdav,  and  I  intend  visitinj; 
there  in  about  two  weeks 

I  received  a  letter  from  Helen  this  mornino:.  Dear 
sister  !  Her  health  is  not  good,  and  I  have  great  fears 
for  her.  She  is  at  home.  I  hope  you  will  pray  for 
us  both. 

You  speak  of  our  trials,  Carrie  :  they  are  nothing. 
Eveiy  day  I   feel   more  and  more  that  my  sacrifice 


w 


88 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


>'^    ,(il 


lii 


has  been  simply  notliino-.  I  cannot  flixl  a  thing  I 
have  done  that  is  a  worthy  ol'teving  to  Ood.  Every 
day  some  new  favor  from  Him — every  hour  some  new 
proof  of  His  love  :  and,  in  comparing  the  benefits 
I  receive  from  Him  every  moment  of  my  life,  with 
the  little  trials  I  have  had,  the  latter  sink  into  utter 
insignificance.  No,  Carrie !  speak  not  of  what  I  have 
done  or  borne.  Would  to  God  I  could  do  something 
in  return  for  all  the  gifts  I  have  received  from  Him. 
But  no  !  they  are  free  gifta.  I  cannot  repay  for  the 
least  of  them.  What  love  !  what  love  He  has  had 
for  us  !  Infinite,  indeed,  it  is  !  Why  is  it  that  our 
hearts  are  so  insensible  of  it  ? 

Mondaij  afternoon. — I  should  have  sent  this  letter 
before,  but  I  have  found  so  little  time  to  finish  it  : 
you  will  excuse  me,  I  am  sure.  8t.  A — e  has  gone 
to  her  collation,  and  left  me  in  charge  of  her  juveniles. 
Dont  you  wish  you  could  just  step  in  and  see  how  dig- 
nified I  look  ?  I  think  you  would  be  surprised.  I 
should  be  delighted  to  see  you  here,  but  suppose  I 
may  not  hope  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  at  pres- 
ent— perhaps  never  !  Well,  there  is  a  world  beyond 
this,  and  one  to  which  I  more  often  look  for  pleasure 
than  to  this 

You  will  not  forget,  will  you,  Carrie  ?    to  pray  for 

Debbie,  Child  of  Mary. 

"  St.  Edstache,  October  14tii,  1856. — My  dear 
Father  :  I  have  now  been  something  over  a  month 
in  ray  new  situation,  and,  knowing  you  would  be 
pleased  to  hear  from  me  not  only  by  others,  but  from 
myself,  I  thought  I  would  write.  I  am  very  well 
pleased,  so  far,  with  my  opportunities  here.  I  am 
getting  along  finely  with  my  French  :  in  fact  I  hear 
but  very  little  else  spoken,  except  on  the  days  I  am  in 
my  English  classes.  I  understand  much  more  than 
when  I  came,  and  am  getting  to  like  the  language 
much.  St.  Eustache  is  a  plepsant  little  place,  and 
very  healthy ;  at  least  I  fi*./.  it  so.  I  am  in  good 
health  myself,  and  hope  to  continue  so.  I  suppose 
you  will  be  so  busy  now  as  hardly  to  find  time  to  ans- 
wer your  political  correspondents,  much  less  me.    Ev- 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


89 


ly  for 

dear 
(lonth 
be 
from 
well 


ppose 
0  ans- 
Ev- 


ory  one  lias  a  subject  upon  wliicli  tlioy  feel  more  in- 
terest tlum  upon  any  otlier,  and  this  boinfr  yours  par- 
ticularly, I  am  interested  also Give  n»y  love 

to  all  ut  home,  and  tell  them  to  write  often.  And 
now  I  must  close.  I  wish  you  a  glorious  victory,  and 
"remain  your  aflectionate  daughter, 

"  Debbie  Bahlow." 
"  St.  Eustaoiie,  Oct. — "My  dear  ^Fother  :  Though 
I  have  written  homo  twice  this  week,  I  tlionght  I 
would  once  more,  and  I  am  sure  you,  as  usual,  like  to 
hear  from  me.  I  wrote  to  father  a  lew  days  since, 
and  I  presume  he  has  received  the  letter  long  ere  this 
reaches  you.  I  am  as  well  as  ever,  and  contented  al- 
so       I  was  in  Montreal  yesterday,  and  on  my 

return  found  Helen's  letter  with  the  sad  intelligence 
of  the  dangtrous  illness  of  our  respected  Bishop.     I 
have  written  to  Helen  to-day.     I  am  sure  she  will  find 
that  I  write  often  enough,  and  I  trust  she  will  reply. 
I  am  happy  to  hear  from  her. that  she  is  much  better 
of  her  cough.     I  hope  all  will  be  well  now,  if  she  gets 
rid  of  that.    How  come  on  affairs  in  Fairfield  ?  1  sup- 
pose as  usual.     I  imagine  the  crowded  soirees,  par- 
ties, etc.,  you  will  be  a})t  to  have  the  ensuing  season  1 
The  elite^  only,  of  the  town,  invited,  of  course  !     How 
is  grandmother  now  ?     The  children,  I  suppose,  are 
well  and  good.     I  >vill  write  to  Charlotte  and  Lai>- 
ra  in  my  next  letter.     They  may  expect  it ;    and  An- 
na, she  has  not  answered  my  letter ;    she  must.     It  is 
time  she  commenced  writing  letters.     You  speak  of 
E —  and  her  babe.     Give  her  mv  love,  and  tell  her  I 
would  be  pleased  to  hear  from  her.     I  often  think  of 
her,  and  this  morning  at  my  communion,  she  was  not 
forgotten.     Tell  her  this  for  me.     Do  yon  hear  from 
Madrid,  aud  how  and  what  do  you  receive  from  there  ? 
I  suppose  things  are  as  usual.      Changes  though  ! — 
how  many  changes  there  have  been  in  three  years  ! 
I  never  saw  anything  like  it !    Give  my  love  to  all. 
Let  me  hear   often.    Your  true 

"  Deijbie,  Enfant  de  Marie. 
Diary. — Xov.  Orii. — Went  to  confession  this  morn- 
ing, again,  and  received   Holy  Communion — every 


fT^ 


V  ' 


90 


THE    YOUNG   CONVEUTS. 


iwm^ 


H  '^: 


B 


Sunday,  this  favor  from  Ood  !  T  am  tlio  ono  who 
sliould  bo  tluiiikful,  bat  I  am  not;  1  am  ever  f{>r^ot- 
tin<,^  Other  thiii^'^s  are  tliouirbt  of,  but  l/us  is  not. — 
Ha[)py  souls  are  tbose  who  can  live  one  day  without 
showing  iuirratitude  to  their  dod  ! — Nov.  IUtii  :  lle- 
ceived  a  letter  from  liome.  H(den  lias  been  confirm- 
ed, and  now,  1  truhit,  will  get  along  finely  with  evcry- 
thin<2: 

"  St.  EusTAniE,  Nov. — Dear  Motlier  :  Your  letter 
and  Helen's  also,  were  received  this  afternoon,  and  I 
thought  I  would  write  you  a  few  lines  that  you  nn'oht 
get  them  Saturday.  I  am  well,  perfectly  so.  I  do 
not  thiidv  I  have  felt  so  well  in  two  years  as  I  do  now. 
I  am  getting  along  nicely  with  my  Frencli,  and  hope 
to  continue  to.  1  tru.'^t  Ilelen  is  getting  better,  from 
what  you  say,  and  the  rest  of  the  family  are  well.  I 
shall  look  for  my  things  soon,  and  will  write  again 

before  long Give  my  love  to  father,  and  any 

of  the  friends  who  incjuire.*'      .... 

"  Nov.  22d. — My  Dear  Mother  :  The  box  came  by 
express  last  night,  safe  and  sound.  Everything  pleas- 
ed. Receive  many,  C'-ry  many  thanks.  I  have  no 
need,  whatever,  of  the  balsams  yon  spoke  of  now,  for 
my  cough   has  left  me  entirely.     I   have  had  good 

scoldings  from  Sister ,  in  the  French  language, 

and  from  St.  A —  in  Engli.sh,  and  doses  of  this,  that 
and  the  other  thing,  until  I  am  perfectly  free  from 
all  appearance  of  a  cold.  Indeed,  it  was  not  exceed- 
ingly bad  any  way,  but  they  have  made  me  put  on 
flannels  throughout — last  month,  some  time — and 
have  kept  ointment  on  my  chest,  until  I  am  sure  I 
shall  never  never  need  any  more.  I  am  not  troubled 
with  my  former  headache.s  .scarcely  any  ;  and,  in  fact, 
my  health  is  first-rate.  I  gdt  along  nicely  at  St.  Eus- 
tache — fare  well,  and  have  no   trouble  whatever. — 

And  so  Mr. is  married.     I  have  nothing  to  say 

about  it,  any  way.  As  for  Helen,  she  has  the  great 
consolation  of  knowing  she  lias  done  something  for 
God;  and  for  her  generosity  she  will  have  a  re- 
ward surpassing  anything  this  world  can  give.  I  am 
sure  she  knows,  as  every  good  Catholic  should,  that 


» 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


91 


wliat  w  lost  in  this  world  for  ( lod,  is  ijalncd  a  thou- 
saiid-foM  in  the  next.  'J'lio  crown  wliich  awaits  lier, 
if  i»he  ifi  faithful  to  ^race,  tve  nii^lit  envy  !  I  can  anly 
iniajrine  what  it  will  be,  and  my  poor  imagination 
is  ju^t  nothinLT  in  this  case. 

And  fto  you  have  some  additions  to  society  in 
Fairfi<^?ld.  I  am  hap{)y  to  hear  it.  If  Helen's  health 
permits,  I  trust  she  will  enjoy  it.  I  have  written 
her  to-day.  and  in  the  same  letter  1  have  to  send 
yours.  I  want  them  to  go  to-nij^ht.  1  am  as  care- 
less aH  you  please  about  the  style  of  my  letters,  of 
late,  from  tlie  fact  that  I  am  generally  in  a  hurry  or 
write  in  class  with  my  young  juveniles  around  me, 
stu<ivin£r.  'J'here  is  one  here  a1)out  Anna's  aire  who 
looks  wonderfully  like  her;  and  tell  Laura  there  is 
one  who  looks,  not  like  Janet,  but  like  Eliza  Anne, 
And  one  I  saw  in  Montreal,  at  the  boarding-school, 
the  exact  image  of  Charlotte ;  I  assure  you  the  exact 
hhrws*  of  her  !  I  have  everything  I  want,  and  when 
I  wan^norc  you  shall  know  it.  We  have  had  snow, 
and  it  is  jjone  a^ain.  But  winter  is  close  at  hand  : 
we  have  fine  weather  most  of  the  time.  I  have  been 
in  Montreal  once  since  I  came  to  ^t.  Eustachc,  and 
expect  to  go  again  when  we  have  good  roads.  8t. 
A — 's  fiiftter  is  going  to  visit  ns  soon.  I  saw  her  and 
her  father  in  Montreal.  lie  is  a  very  pleasant  gen- 
tleman       I   have   no   news  to  write,   and  of 

course  my  letters  have  to  be  short.  Give  my  love  to 
all.  Truly  your  IJebijir,  Enfant  de  Marie. — P.  S,  1 
hope  Heien'n  health  will  continue  to  improve.  She 
must  be  very  careful,  and  get  rid  of  that  cough." 

Extra/rt  from  Diary  :  "  Nov.  SOrri — St.  Andrew's 
day,  the  anniversary  of  my  ba[)tism.  One  year  ago  ! 
how  tim<^;  has  flown  since  the  joyful  day  of  my  bap- 
tism !  I  am  not  aware  where  it  has  gone  so  swiftly  ; 
each  day  some  new  beauty  has  been  unfolded  before 
me,  and  every  hour  I  have  had  new  reasons  to  otTer 
praise  and  thanksgiving  to  Almighty  God.  Another 
year  of  my  Catholic  life  has  commenced  for  mc ;  and 
shall  it  l>e  as  productive  of  evil  as  the  past  one? 
Shall  there  be  no  more  good  resolutions,  no  more  ef- 


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THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


forts  to  subtlue  evil  inclinations,  no  more  progress  in 
virtue?  Ah,  the  longer  I  live,  the  more  I  iind  in 
poor  I  to  fight  against;  the  more  I  discover  how  lit- 
tle courage  I  have  for  the  warfare,  and  how  much, 
how  very  much  is  needed,  But,  v*^ith  the  help  of 
God  I  will  continue ;  I  will  renew  my  feeble  efforts 
nnd  hope  for  the  best.  Have  been  to  Communion 
and  must  commence  with  fresh  cour- 


mornmg, 

11 


this 
age 

The  following  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  Helen's, 
to  the  convent  friend  fit  St.  Eustache,  so  frequently 
addressed  by  her  sister.  The  date  does  not  appear, 
but  it  was  during  the  fall  that  Debbie  was  there. 
. . . . "  Though  I  may  appear,  I  am  not  cold-hearted. 
You  ask  me  whi/  I  am  not  more  confiding  ?  I  can 
not  tell  why,  only  that  it  was  never  my  habit  to 
make  my  feelings  known  to  any  one  if  it  could  be 
avoided.  I  always  dreaded  it,  and  even  now,  be- 
cause I  cannot  bring  myself  to  speak  to  my  Confess- 
or of  some  interior  troubles,  I  at  times  suffei^.  great 

agony  of  mind Night  after  night,  as  1  knelt 

in  that  dim-lighted  chapel,  I  prayed  earnestly  that 
God  would  di.ect  and  strengthen  me  to  do  my  duty. 

"  But  God,  through  ways  they  have  not  known, 
iWill  lead  His  own  1" 

And  years  have  passed,  and  I  am  only  now  as  it  were, 
a  Catholic.  What  I  have  suffered  none  can  ever 
know  but  those  whose  minds  have  been  through  just 
what  mine  has  been.  Away  down  amid  the  darkness 
of  infidelity,  my  heart  has  roved ;  and  what  was  I 
.  thinking  of  when  I  could  give  myself  up  to  such 
darkness  of  mind  ?  The  love  of  a  human  being  ! 
....     This  has  been  my  greatest  sin.     Oh,  my  God, 

forgive  me  !"   

I  will  here  give  a  part  of  another  letter,  written  by 
Helen  soon  after  the  foregoing  one,  and  to  the  same 
person.  These  letters  were  probably  enclosed  to 
Debbie,  as  no  date  appears  upon  them:  "Dearest 
Tante — I  have  laid  aside  everything  for  a  while  that  I 


TUE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


93 


may  write  to  you.  I  have  had  so  little  time  to  write 
lately,  that  1  would  hardly  have  finished  my  letter  to 
sister,  when  the  mail  would  come  and  it  would  be  too 
late  to  send  one  to  you.  I  think  I  shall  be  obliged 
to  go  again  to  the  Convent  to  learn  to  be  more  or- 
derly in  my  habits.  Everything  /  have  to  do,  always 
has  to  be  done  at  the  same  time.  Debbie  knows  how 
that  is.  I  think  she  will  smile  if  she  sees  this  my 
honest  confession.  Dearest  Tante  S — ,  you  could 
not  make  me  happier  than  you  did  when  you  told  me 
that  you  loved  me  so  dearly.  I  have  atways  been  too 
sensitive,  but  1  could  not  help  it.  Yes,  my  dear 
Tante,  you  were  compelled  to  appear  indifferent  to 
me,  but  what  was  the  cause  ?  Not  the  jealousy  of 
others  entirely,  but  my  own  conduct  would  not  allow 
you  to  leel  the  same  towards  me  that  you  had  done. 
Well,  it   is  past.     You   have  forgiven  and  still  lovo 

your  child No,  my  dearest  Tante,  I  did  not 

expect  to  be  all  love,  all  fervor  :  but  I  did  expect  to  bo 
able  to  give  up  all  tilings  for  Christ  without  a  mur- 
mur       In  the  hour  of  temptation  I  wrote  to 

you  ;  it  is  over  now  ;  I  have  yielded.  I  desire  to  do 
His  will  in  all  things — even  more,  to  lay  down  my 
life  for  Him.  Two  days  after  receiving  the  sacra- 
ment of  confirmation  the  first  trial  came,  (you  know 
what  news  I  mean,)  and  but  for  the  strength  I  then 
received,  I  fear  I  had  been  overwhelmed  by  the 
waves  of  sorrow  that  then  Uowed  in  upon  my  heart; 
i'ar  more  stroilgiy  than  T  had  dreamed  of,  did  it  retain 
the  remembrance  of  the  past.  Yet  I  regret  it  not. 
You  knoiOy  my  own  Tante,  your  child  is  sincere.  1 
thank  God  that  He  has  granted  me  this,  that  I  may 
glorify  Him  by  suffering.  And  now,  dear  and  sweet 
Tante,  write  me  soon  (as  I  requested  Debbie)  a  long 
good  letter,  as  you  generally  do ;  it  makes  me  better. 
I  like  your  way  of  telling  me  things,  dear,  dear  Tante  ! 
I  have  written  in  haste.  Excuse  the  imperfections 
of  this  letter.     Your  affectionate  and  grateful  child, 

"  Helen." 
Extract  from  Debbie's  journal :    "  Montkeal,  Deo. 
Oni — Went  i^  Communion  this  morning,  in  the  little 


«    *■  J^ 


•♦■ 


'H:-"^- 


94 


THE    YOUNG    C0NVEUT8. 


chapel  at  the  hoarding-school.  This  is  one  of.  the 
great  pleasures  I  have  when  I  come  to  Montreal,  and 
it  should  be,  I  am  sure.  Why  that  spot  is  dearer 
than  others,  I  do  not  know ;  it  is  the  home  of  the  hmrt 
for  me,  and  must  ever  be.  Time  may  pass  with  its 
many  changes,  but  there  will  be  none  for  me  as  re- 
gards that  little  Oratory  of  Mary, 

Dec.  8tii — Feast  of  the  Immaculate  Conception 
and  the  Anniversary  of  my  First  Communion.  The 
weather  not  quite  as  fine  as  last  year  at  this  time.  I 
have  a  slight  remembrance  of  my  joyous  day  in  St. 
Albans,  the  8th  of  December,  1855.  Probably  my 
memory  will  be  good  all  nvj  life  on  that  subject. 

"Dec.  16tii — I  received  a  letter,  telling  of  the  desire 
of  one  vervnear  and  dear  to  me,  to  be  confirmed  when 
the  bishop  visited  Fairfield.  Poor  dear  one  !  her  de- 
sire will  some  time  be  gratified.  I  must  write  a  few 
lines  to  Anna  also,  who  has  come  to  the  happy  conclu- 
sion of  becoming  a  Catholic.  What  glorious  news  ! 
What  a  happiness  if  the  time  does  come  when  I  shall 
see  them  within  the  '  xVrk  of  Safety  !'  God  grant  that 
it  mav  be  so  !  Hope  on,  hope  ever  my  soul,  for  He  is 
all  goodness."      .... 

"  Convent  of  the  Congregation  N.  D.  } 
St.  EusTAciiE,  Dec.—  ,  1856.  \ 

"My  dear  Mother :  Your  last  letter  I  should.have 
answered  in  Helen's,  but  at  that  moment  I  had  not 
time  except  to  finish  hers.  I  am  most  happy  to  hear 
that  you  are  all  well,  and  hope  this  may  long  con- 
tinue       I  went  to  Montreal  week  before  last 

with  St.  A.  Had  ten  minutes  to  dress  in,  you  can  im- 
agine the  hurry  ;  got  to  Villa  Maria  in  the  evening, 
aroused  the  poor  nuns  from  their  devotions  in  the  chap- 
el by  a  tremendous  knockin^^at  the  entrance,  and  ring- 
ing of  the  bell.  We  were  so  muftied  up  in  cloaks, 
hoods,  etc.,  that  no  one  knew  us  at  first.  Sister 
M — ,  who  came  to  the  door,  scanned  us  from  head  to 
foot  before  admitting  such  stragglers^  and  finaly  recog* 
nizcd  us,  Ma  Tante  N —  was  there,  and  she  thought  it 
must  be  some  one  in  the  greatest  distress  imaginable. 

"  While  at  the  convent  I  had  the  plctvpure  of  meet- 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


95 


ing  many  old  friends  among  boarders,  and  some  otli- 
er;^.  The  convent  building  narrowly  escaped  being 
destroyed  by  fire  last  week.  My  letter  to  Helen  con- 
tains some  of  the  details,  though  I  have  not  heard 
much.  How  does  Fairfield  progress  since  thero 
are  some  new  comers  and  some  departures  ?  Just  re- 
member me  to  all  who  may  inquire.  When  I  go 
home  1  suppose  I  shall  find  some  new  faces — some 
old  ones  gone.  How  is  grandmother  now  ?  I  sup- 
pose about  the  same.  You  spoke  of  my  going  home 
in  your  last  letter.  There  is  no  vacation  at  present, 
and  I  could  not  leave  without  breaking  in  upon  the 
(hitics  of  the  school.  They  expect  me  to  stay  until 
July,  and  I  desire  to.  If  I  went  liome  before  that 
time  I  should  wish  to  return  to  finish  the  year,  and  I 
think,  for  only  a  few  days,  it  would  be  foolish  to  go. 
I  am  doing  well,  and  1  had  better  go  on.  My  love  to 
all.  I  remain  as  ever,  your  affectionate  daughter, 
"  Debbie  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Marie.'"' 


i-.  : 


The  following  note  to  her  sister  Laura,  appears  to 
have  been  enclosed  in  the  same  envelope  with  the 
foregoing  letter  :  "  My  dear  little  Sister :  Your 
note  was  received  with  the  greatest  happiness.  I  am 
glad  you  are  commencing  to  write  letters.  You 
should^  continue.  Write  to  me  as  often  as  you  can. 
Your  picture  pleased  you.  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  think 
it  very  nice  myself.  I  sent  as  pretty  ones  as  I  could 
find  in  Montreal  at  the  time.  So  you  think  I  am 
getting  wild  in  the  convent.  Wild  in  my  old  age! 
Fie,  Laura  !  I  am  growing  steady  .  I  must  be,  for 
my  station  requires  it.  Teacher !  I  imagine  you 
would  laugh  to  see  me.  Ma  Tante  St.  A —  says  I 
cannot  scold  ;  when  she  wants  to  have  a  hearty  laugh 
she  contrives  some  way  to  hear  me  scold  my  children. 
I  dress  them  sometimes  with  dunce  caps  when  Mr. 
(J — ,  the  parish  priest,  is  coming  to  hear  the  marks 
read,  and  let  him  do  the  lecturing.  Good  way.  I 
must  here  close.     Good  bye  ! 

*'  Debbie,  Enfant  de  Marie,^^ 


■  tr  ■ 


;?;?.i 


96 


THE   YOUNCf   CONVERTS. 


"Convent  of  tiik  Conoregatton,  } 
St.  Eustaciie,  Dec,  1856.  ^ 
"  My  own  dear  L — e  :  Again  I  am  addressing  you, 
and  why  ?  I  have  written  before  and  received  no 
answers;  but  this  afternoon  ray  old  friends  have  one 
by  one  been  in  my  mind,  and  among  them  not  the 
least  was  L — .  Again  and  again  have  I  attempted 
to  forget  the  past.  It  keeps  coming  this  day  and 
I  find  the  tears  falling  thick  and  fast  while  I  am  busy 
with  mv  class.  The  Past,  why  mnst  it  haunt  me  so? 
God  only  knows  how  I  sometimes  strive  to  drive  all 
memories  from  me  !  They  are  too  sad.  No  One  un- 
derstands me ;  and  to  whom  is  my  heart  so  open  as 
to  one  who  was  the  dearest  friend  of  earlier  years? 
Oh  L —  can  it  be  you  have  forgotten  ?  Else  why 
this  estrangement?  Can  you  so  sooii  cease  to  thinlc 
of  one  who  has  been  your  warmest  friend  ?  Are  you 
mistaken  in  her  ?  Did  she  not  prove  to  he  what  you 
once  thought  she  was  ;  have  you  found  others  whose 
thoughts  and  feelings  were  more  congenial  with 
yours  ?  I  ask  you  once  more  L —  the  cause  of  this 
change ;  you  must  answer  me.  You  are  the  last 
of  my  early  friends;  the  others  are  gone  and  I  begin 
to  think  truly  "  Friendship  is  a  marvel  among  men  !" 
I  have  lost  more  friends  in  the  past  few  years  than  I 
would  once  have  thought  possible.  So  much  to, teach 
me  humility.  If  you  go  as  the  others  have,  I  may 
say  "  ir>  is  the  last."  I  form  few  strong  attach- 
ments :  but  it  is  like  taking  my  life  to  give  up  those 
who  have  once  been  dear  to  me.  I  am  still  the 
same,  my  dear  friend,  towards  you,  and  love  you 
as  fondly  as  you  will  ever  be  loved  by  any  one.  My 
constant  prayer  is  that  you  may  be  happy  ;  and, 
though  I  am  far  from  you  in  the  quiet  of  a  con- 
vent, vou  are  often  thou<i:ht  of.  I  dread  the  thouijht 
that  our  friendship  must  end,  after  its  long  continu- 
ance. Will  yon  not  write  once  more — and  most  as- 
suredly wherever  you  may  be,  you  will  be  answered 
immediately.     If  I  hear  from  you  no  more,  I  promise 

you  will  ever  be  remembered  in  my  prayers 

And  now  good  bye  !   God  bless  you,  L — ,  and  preserve 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


97 


,     ) 

.6.  ^ 

you, 

d  no 

3  one 

t.  the 

ipted 

y^  and 

,  busy 

le  so  ? 

A'e  all 

le  uri- 

)en  as 

^-ears? 

3   why 
think 

vc  yoii 

at  you 
whose 

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ve   last 
bc<2;in 

men ! 
than  I 
teach 
I  may 
ttach- 
)  those 
ill  the 

Ive  yon 
My 
,    and , 
a  con- 
Ihought 
lontinu- 
jiost  as- 
swercd 
Promise 

•  •  •  • 

Ircserve 


you  from  all  sorrow.  May  your  life  here  be  happy, 
and  your  soul  eternally  blest.  Seek  first  of  all  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven,  and  every  thing  else  shall  bo 
added  unto  you.     Yours  truly  and  forever, 

"  Mary  Debbie,  Enfant  de  Marie,'''' 
{To  the  same,) 
"  Convent  of  the  CoNGREaATiox,  } 
St.  Edstaciie,  Dec.  25,  1856.     \ 

"  My  Dear  L e  : 

"  Your  letter  was  received  on  Wednesday  last,  and 
I  had  just  sent  one  to  Burlington  for  you,  which  you 
will  probably  receive  before  you  do  this,  and  perhaps 
be  surprised  at  the  tone  in  which  it  is  written.  Do 
not  think  too  much  of  it.  I  had  not  heard  from  you 
for  so  long  a  period,  that  I  began  to  think  you  had 
departed  from  this  life,  or  from  your  former  line  of  con- 
duct. I  am  most  happy  to  find  you  are  still  the  same 
L — ,  and  after  long  years  have  passed  we  will  still  be 
as  warm  and  true  friends  as  ever,  even  though  we  may 
have  met  and  parted  for  the  last  time  on  earth. 

You  say  you  are  going  to  get  interested  in  the 
pleasures  of  Chicago.  Very  well,  enjoy  yourself,  but 
I  entreat  you  sometimes  to  think  of  things  more 
lastng  and  more  important.  These  may  be  pleasing 
for  a  time  and  the  senses  be  indulged  as  they  desire, 
but  like  every  thing  on  this  earth  they  will  pass 
away  and  leave  the  heart  unsatisfied.  Do  not  think 
I  wish  to  preach  you  a  sermon,  but  I  do  not  love  you 
with  a  merely  human  affection  ;  I  love  your  soul.  I 
do  not  wish  to  trouble  you  with  my  lectures,  and 
would  not  have  3^ou  think  I  practise  half  as  much  as 
I  ought,  that  which  I  admire  so  much  in  others.  But 
I  cannot  resist  the  strong  desire  I  have  of  saying  a 
few  words  to  my  L —  occasionally.  They  may  not 
be  welcome,  but  forgive  me  if  I  err.  I  fear  some- 
times for  you.  Your  heart  is  gay,  and  your  disposi- 
tion one  that  requires  pleasure  to  make  you  happy, 
and  for  this  reason  I  am  often  led  to  fear  that  you  will 
forget  things  of  much  greater  moment.  You  know^ 
as  well  as  1,  that  life  is  not  long  at  the  longest,  and 
we  know  not  the  day  nor  the  hour  when  we  shall  be 


98 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


»    .   •> 


lii 


II. 


'ill: 


ii' 


hi    t  J 


-..'I : 


called.  How  often  we  hear  of  a  person  being  taken 
suddenly  from  the  world  without  any  warning,  and 
why  should  we  imagine  we  shall  be  more  fortunate. 
Death  comes,  and  then  follows  the  judgment.  Is 
this  not  enough  to  make  us  reflect  upon  the  state  of 
our  souls  ?  It  is  not  hard  to  think  of  these  things, 
and  I  trust  my  dearest  friend,  you  will  not  forget 
them  entirely.  If  you  knew  how  much  depended  up- 
on life  here,  you  would  not  neglect  to  seek  something 
■which  will  render  us  happy  hereafter.  Do  not  smile 
at  what  I  have  written.  Ask  yourself  the  question, 
'  Is  it  not  true  ?'  and  do  not  pass  it  by  unheeded.  Be 
sure  you  are  not  forgotten,  and  I  trust  one  day  to  see 
my  little  friend  \s\\VLi  I  have  so  often  prayed  she  might 
be. 

And  so  at  last  you  are  with  your  father  in  Chicago, 
I  hope  you  will  find  a  happy  homo  there,  and  that 
you  health  will  be  much  improved.  If  you  arc 
*  growing  steady  in  your  old  age,'  St.  A — says  I  am 
'growing  ferocious  !'  You  see  what  a  reputation  I 
am  getting.  She  says  she  will  expect  you  when  you 
have  the  great  misfortune  you  speak  of.  She  sends 
much  love  and  this  picture  to  you.  She  is  all  kind- 
ness to  me  and  you  may  imagine  I  love  her  more  and 
more  every  day.  I  am  most  happy  to  be  with  her, 
and  enjoy  myself  just  as  well  as  ever.  I  hear  from 
Helen  often.     Her  health  is  not  good,  neither  is  Sister 

Anna's.     Perhaps  I  wrote  you  that  Mr.  A was 

married  the  very  day  on  which  Helen  was  confirmed. 
E — ,  his  sister  has  named  her  little  daughter  Helen, 
for  my  sister,  and  Amanda  for  that  much  loved 
Miss  A of  whom  you  have  so  often   heard  us 

SpCctiVt     •  •  •  • 

I  now  return  to  the  diary:  "January  1st,  1857. 
New  Year's  Day — A  new  year  just  commencing; 
one  just  past ;  and  all  its  joys  and  sorrows,  pleasures 


and  pains,  all 


its  changes 


are  buried  in  the  great 


tomb  of  the  past !  How  many  hearts  have  been  fill- 
ed with  new  joys  in  the  course  of  the  year  which  has 
just  closed  ?  how  many  have  been  broken  ?  how 
many  have  seen  the  dearest  hopes  blasted,  the  fondest 


,'.,  ""^V, 


■i  .»! 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


99 


1      - 
»  sends 

kind- 
re  and 
li  lier, 
from 
Sister 
was 
irmed. 
Helen, 
loved 
ard  us 

1857. 
3ncing ; 
easures 
great 
een  fiU- 
lich  has 
?    how 
fondest 


anticipations  disappointed  ?  how  many  have  gained 
Heaven  ?  how  many  have  lost  it  ?  and  now  all  is 
over  !  Eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-six  will  be  heard 
of  no  more,  except  in  calling  up  scenes  of  joy  or  sor- 
row, and  in  weeping  over  the  irrevocable  past.  And 
where  are  its  moments,  hours,  days  and  months  ? 
Hard  is  this  to  answer;  we  can  only  know  it  has 
flown  as  others  have,  as  others  will.  •  Our  object 
should  be  to  employ  the  coming  tim%as  wo  now  wish 
we  had  the  past.  Another  year  is  opening  upon  our 
poor  earth.  Would  to  God  it  might  bring  with  it 
less  sorrow,  less  sin;  and  my  heart  is  whispering, 
*  Do  thy  share,  try  and  fulfill  thy  duties  and  there  will 
be  a  little  less.'  Once  more,  here  are  good  resolu- 
tions. How  long  will  they  last  ?  No  matter,  I  can 
keep  trying ;  and  if  there  is  no  good  comes  of  them, 
I  will  not  have  to  say  I  did  not  make  an  effort.  A 
long  year  to  look  forward  to  ;  I  trust  some  one  will 
pray  for  me  that  it  may  not  be  altogether  lost." 

"  Convent  op  tue  Congregation,  St  Eustaciib' 
January  7tii,  1857 — My  dear  Mother:  Your  long 
letter  contained  much  pleas'ng  news.  I  have  but  a 
few  moments  more  to  write  before  sending  my  letter 
to  Helen.  I  am  happy  to  hear  you  are  all  so  well, 
and  enjoying  yourselves  so  much.  I  wish  you  a  happy 
New  Year,  and  all  at  home.  My  birthday  is  past,  and 
I  enjoyed  it  very  well  here  in  St.  Eustache.  It  be- 
ing Sunday,  I  attended  church  morning  and  even- 
ing. Helen  will  tell  you  of  the  feast  the  day  be- 
fore. I  am  now  nineteen  !  Getting  along  wonder- 
fully in  years ;  I  can  hardly  realize  (time  goes  so 
swiftly,)  that  f  am  somewhat  advanced  in  years.  How- 
ever, it  is  so.  The  Misses  B —  you  speak  of,  I  think 
I  have  seen  one  of  them  once.     I  have  heard  them, 

very  highly  spoken  of  by  Mrs.  S ,  as  well  as  their 

brother.  Give  my  love  to  father ;  tell  him  I  wish  him 
a  very  happy  New  Year,  and  the  greatest  blessings 
with  it.  Give  my  love  also  to  all  my  friends.  Tell 
E my  letter  was  written  some  time  ago,  and  I  in- 
tended to  t?en(l  it,  but  forgot  it.  I  shall  write  again 
soon  and  a  longer  letter,  but  it  is  growing  dark  and  I 


/* 


.r;.ti'> 


100 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


li 

ill  S?! 


fnofft  stop  now.  St.  A —  sends  her  best  wishea  for  the 
jear.     Yours  affectionately, 

"  DEnniE,  Enfant  de  Maries 

Diary:  "  Sunday.  Jan.  llnr,  1857 Have 

•Umded  church  as  usual ;  there  is  little  need  of  say- 
ing this.  Since  I  am  a  Catholic^  I  believe  I  generally 
go  to  church  on  Sundays — somewhat  different  from 
oH  times,  when  I  used  to  do  as  I  chose  about  such 
matters.  *  A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my 
dr«i^am,'  or  I  might  say,  I  awoke  from  my  slumber 8,q.w<X 
now  I  am  under  blessed  obedience,  thank  God.  " 

"  Convent  op  the  Congregation,  St.  Eustachr, 
JA?r.  18ti[,  1857— My  dear  Mother  :  Your  letters 
from  home  were  received  with  true  pleasure  yesterday. 
I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  you  had  been  suffering  from 
one  of  your  headaches,  but  I  trust  you  are  now  much 
better.  No  other  bad  news  was  to  be  found  in  the 
five  short  notes,  unless  the  loss  of  our  State  House, 
Xfj  fire,  be  mentioned.      I  had  not  heard  of  it  before 

yoar  note   arrived And   now,    for   news  at 

home.  I  suppose  you  are  making  some  changes  from 
what  you  say.  I  shall  see  when  I  get  home.  Of 
course,  I  am  interested  in  them  all.  Father  sent  me 
word  he  had  bought  a  new  span  of  horses.  It  will 
give  you  all  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  I  am  sure ;  if  1 
am  not  mistaken  you  will  make  good  use  of  them. 
Anna  wrote  me  that  she  and  Helen  were  going  to 
Fairfax,  to  spend  a  week  at  Mr.  B — 's,  of  course.  I 
vas  most  happy  to  hear  that  their  coughs  were  so 
mnch  better,  and  hope  they  will  continue  so.  Have 
yon  had  .nuch  company  this  winter  ?  I  imagine  Fair- 
field quite  pleasant  about  these  days.  You  have  had 
ftf>me  pleasant  additions  to  your  society,  too.  Some 
of  yon  asked  how  I  spent  Christmas.  I  send  the  let- 
ter I  wrote  to  Helen  at  the  time,  and  did  not.  send  it 
for  some  reason  now  forgotten.  I  hope  you  all  en- 
joyed yourselves.  The  girls  wrote  to  me  about  their 
presents,  and  when  I  go  to  Montreal  I  will  look  for 
mine  to  them.  I  do  not  know  how  soon  that  will  be. 
I  may  go  in  to  attend  a  ceromony  some  time  this 
month  ;  if  not,  then  probably  not  until  Holy  We-  k. 


cl 
nl 


»-   , 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEllTS. 


101 


me 
will 
ifl 


^g 


to 


re    so 
Have 
Fair- 
e  bad 
Some 
let- 
send  it 
ill  en- 
k  tbeiv 
fok  for 
Will  be. 
tbis 


I  find  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  going  to  tbe  city 
but  I  am  troubled  greatly  witb  Kleigb-sickness,  wben 

I  ride  tbis  winter Ma  Tantc  8 —  ia  never  any 

otber  way  tbcn  pleasant.  Tbcy  laugb  at  us  for  be- 
ing always  together Tbe  other  nun  bere  says 

we  save  bcr  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  for  she  needs  never 
ask  but  one  wbat  she  will  have,  or  what  she  would 
like.  Wbat  one  has  tbe  other  must  have  ;  what  one 
likes  the  other  likes  also.  I  am  very  well.  Give  my 
love  to  father;  tell  him  I  am  happy  to  bear  of  bis  im- 
provemenU  ;  hope  he  is  in  good  health.  Let  me  bear 
soon  and  often.     Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Debbie,  Enfant  de  Marie." 

This  note  to  her  sister  Charlotte  accompanied  tho 
foregoing  letter. 

"  Convent  of  the  Congregation — My  dear  little 
Charlotte  :  Your  letter  gave  me  tbe  greatest  pleasure. 
I  wish  you  would  write  often.  I  heard  from  mother 
that  you  could  write  very  well,  before  your  letter 
arrived,  and  you  must  practice.  I  am  glad  your  pic- 
tures pleased  you  ;  and  your  New  Year's  present  from 
father  and  mother.  You  could  not  have  had  a  nicer 
one,  in  your  sister  Debbie's  estimation.  I  cannot 
tell  you  much  which  will  interest  you.  Only  know 
you  are  often  thought  of  by  me  every  day,  every  day  ; 
and  when  I  see  you  next  summer,  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  my  school,  my  friends,  and  my  adventures  at 
St.  Eustacbe.     Ma  Tante  St.  A —  sends  love. 

"  Yours,  truly,  "Debbie,  Enfant  de  Marie, 

"P.  S. —  I  suppose  you  have  fine  drives  tbis  winter 
and  high  times.  Do  you  grow  as  fast  as  ever  ?  If  so 
you  will  be  quite  out  of  my  remembrance.  " 

"  St.  Eustaciie,  Jan.  19th,  1857. 

"  Beloved  L :     I  lose  no  time  in  answering 

your  welcome  letter.  I  was  perfectly  delighted  to 
hear  you  were  so  happy,  so  contented  in  your  new 
home  and  I  wish  you  may  ever  continue  to  be  so. 
Y^'ou  are  with  those  you  love  most  on  earth,  and  you 
cannot  be  otherwise  than  happy.  I  know  you  will 
not  forget  those  who  love  you  and  are  far,  far  away. 

Your   letter  gave  me   pleasure   in   many  ways. 


;  •. 


Ai 


102 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


.    * 


Your  father  is  again 

for  I  think  my  L 

sons.      I  think  of  you 


married.     This  is  good   news, 

will  be  happier  for  many  rea- 

often  ;    yes,  every  day.  and 


would  desire  to  see  you,  but  this  is  fruitless  at  least 
for  a  long  time.     I  can  hardly  realize  that  you  are 

in  the  distant  West,  and  I  so  far  from  you 

Why  are  we  separated  ?  but  is  not  this  life  and  its 
changes — the  separation  of  friends  which  is  over  tak- 
ing place  here  ? 

I  am  still  happy  in  St.  Eustache,  as  contented  as 
possible.  Nothing  to  trouble  me  much.  My  class 
numbers  eighteen  and  I  have  no  trouble  whatever 
with  them.  I  have  letters  from  home  every  week 
and  from  Sister  Catherine  often I  am  hap- 
py to  assure  you  that  Helen's  cough  is  better.     I 

think  Mr.  A 's  marraige  will  not  affect  her  much. 

I  know  she  does  not  regret  the  course  she  took.  Na- 
ture is  nature  in  every  case,  and  she  must  sometimes 
have  felt  its  power,  but  not  to  regret.  For  my  own 
part,  I  think  God  has  had  His  designs  in  this  matter 
and  destines  her  for  something  higher  and  better.  . . 

Diary:  "Feb.  8th,  1857. — This  is  a  memorable 
day  for  me.  Just  four  years  ago  this  morning,  I  saw 
for  the  first  time  a  convent.  Many  changes  in  many 
things  since  that  time.  A  real  God-send  being  sent 
to  Montreal !  When  shall  I  be  able  to  appreciate,  as 
I  should,  the  privileges  I  received  there  ?  Feb.  9tu 
— Four  years  ago,  I  entered  as  a  scholar  the  convent 
at  Montreal.  How  changed  is  every  thing  since 
then  !  I  look  back  and  wonder  at  my  sentiments. 
I  think  of  my  first  night  there,  and  my  first  visit  to  a 
Catholic  chapel.  How  well  I  remember  the  hymns, 
sung  to  the  Blessed  Virgin,  the  statues  and  paintings, 
altars  and  crucifixes  that  horrified  me  so  much.  How 
contented  I  felt  though,  in  spite  of  my  attempts  to 
look  on  the  dark  side  of  every  thing.  How  calm 
were  those  first  hours  in  my  convent  home.  I  knew 
not  why  my  heart  could  not  find  any  thing  to  dislike 
although  it  tried.  Trouble  only  came  when  doubts 
rushed  like  torrents  upon  me  ;  doubts  of  my  safety, 
the  safety  of  my  soul.     What  was  I  doing  to  gain 


■r\ 


■i 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


103 


Heaven?  Was  I  in  darkncRs,  or  in  li;,^ht?  Alas! 
I  found  myself  going  on  like  one  blind  without  a 
guide  !  without  a  thought  of  the  preeiiice,  towards 
which  I  waB  hastening.  But  these  things  have  made 
that  spot  dearer  than  life  to  mo.  There  1  found  that 
precious  treasure,  without  which  time  is  long,  life  is 
all  dreariness  and  eternity  is  misery  without  a  hope 

of  change " 

"  St.  Eustaciik,  Feb.  ITtii,  1857. 
"  My  Dear  Mother : — I  received  your  letter  with  the 
intelligence  of  your  sickness ;    I  need  not  say  that  I 
am  most  happy  to  know  that  you  are  so  far  recover- 
ed.    I  hope  you  will  continue  as  well  as  you  are  a  > 

present.     Our  winter  has  been  very  severe We 

expect  to  go  to  Montreal  in  about  two  weeks,  if  the 
weather  is  not  too  bad — when  we  have  more  sl  .  vv  to 
give  us  some  sk^'ghing.  Helen  has,  I  suppose,  re- 
turned from  tuulaxjhus  had  a  pleasant  time  \x 
doubted'  ,  and  Anna  also.  1  am  glad  you  find  tho 
newcomers  so  pleasant,  and  hope  they  will  remain  iu 

Fairfield I  suppose  you  know  L J a 

has  gone  to  Chicago.  Her  father  is  again  married. 
She  wrote  me  a  few  days  ago ;  is  very  well  contented, 
and  likes  the  city  so  far  as  she  knows  anything  of  it. 
She  aent  her  love  to  you  all.  Your  girls  have  left 
you — whom  have  you  now,  and  how  do  you  like 
them  ?  Grandmother  is  failing  you  say  ;  I  suppose 
she  does  not  leave  her  room.  Has  father  returned  ? 
I  imagina  he  is  gone  as  much  is  ever.  Give  my  love 
to  him.     I  should  be  most  happy  to  receive  the  paper 

he  spoke  of — hope  it  will  come.     My  love  to  E , 

and  kiss  her  babe  for  me.     Remember  me  to  A 

S ,  and  any  one  who  may  inquire I  re- 
main, as  ever,  your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Debbik  S.  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Marie^ 
*'  Convent  op  tup  Congregation,  N.  D.,  } 
St.  Eustaciie,  Feb.  2>ii,  1857.  \ 
"  My  very  dear  Carrie  :     Your  long  and  very  wel- 
come letter  has  just  been  received  and  I  cannot  deny 
myself  the  pleasure  of  answering  this  very  afternoon. 
I  could  not  define  the  cause  of  your  long  silence  but 


104 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


i»- 


■fit    *:5?i'i 


I!  a 


now  I  know.  Truly  my  dear  Caro,  you  are  lonely,  but 
1)0  brave  and  I  trust  it  will  not  last  too  long.  You  are 
at  last  in  your  Southern  home.  I  regret  exceedingly 
that  you  are  deprived  the  pleasure  of  the  consolations 
of  our  holy  religion.  I  know  this  mnst  be  to  you  a 
real  trial,  one  which  you  must  feel  sorely  after  having 
been  so  long  in  a  convent.  But  knowing,  as  you  do, 
that  it  is  all  for  the  best,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  very 
patient  and  therefore  your  loneliness  will  be  some- 
what mitigated. 

You  did  not  tell  me  how  long  you  had  been  in 
your  present  situation.  I  imagine  you  are  not  far 
from  Washington.     How  is  it  ?  • 

Now,  my  dear  friend,  I  must  not  write  you  a  sober 
letter ;  no,  I  will  not.  You  have  enough  to  make 
you  sad  already.  I  must  try  to  make  you  cheerful  at 
least  while  you  are  reading  my  long  letter,  for  such 
I  intend  to  make  it,  even  if  I  have  to  fill  up  with  all 
kinds  of  nonsense.  I  think  you  will  smile  at  my  in- 
tention  

You  and  I  are  now  in  the  same  capacity,  teachers^ 
in  rather  different  places,  however ;  I  am  the  favored 
one  as  regards  pleasure — just  now,  at  least — I  must 
tell  you  how  I  am  situated.     First  of  all,  I  am  with 

8t.  A e,   and  that  would  be   enough,   even  in  a 

wilderness — at  St.  Eustache,  a  village  about  twenty 
miles  from  Montreal.  I  will  not  attempt  to  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  place,  people,  &c.,  for  I  do  not  see  a 
great  deal  of  either,  preferring  to  remain  in  the  house 
most  of  the  time.  We  have  not  many  pupils,  I  have 
but  sixteen  in  English  and  seven  in  music.  I  am 
nicely  situated  you  see.     There  are  but  two  nuns 

here   now,  ma  Tante   the  N and   St.  A e. 

They  are  both  just  as  kind  as  they  can  be,  and  I  as- 
sure you  I  could  not  find  in  the  wide  world  any  one 
who  would  feel  for  me  what  the  latter  does.  So  you 
perceive  I  am  with  pleasant  persons.  My  time  is 
spent  as  follows  :  Arise  at  half  past  five  o'clock,  go 
to  Mass  at  six ;  breakfast  at  half  past  six.  At  seven 
I  go  to  the  little  chapel  where  we  have  the  happiness 
of  having- the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  after  a  little 


u 
(J 


>      ■,! 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


105 


xTurSy 

/ored 

must 

with 
m  d 

venty 

e  you 
see  a 

[louse 
have 
I  am 
nuns 
•e. 
I  as- 
,y  one 
o  you 
lie  iB 
5k,  go 
seven 
liness 
little 


visit,  repair  to  the  class.  At  eight  o'clock,  on  days  of 
English  class,  I  commence  hearing  the  recitations. 

At  ten  St.  A e  comes  for  the  translations,  and  at 

eleven,  lecture  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Dinner,  vis- 
it to  the  Blessed  Sacrament  and  recreation  until  one 
P.  M.  I  then  have  my  class  again  for  half  an  hour, 
and  from  that  time  until  four  for  my  own  studies. 
Half  an  hour  lecture.  I  then  give  my  French  les- 
sons. Prayers  at  quarter  past  five,  tea  at  six,  and 
recreation  until  eight;  visit  again  to  the  chapel,  and 
to  bed.  You  see  how  my  time  passes ;  very  much 
like  our  convent  days  in  Montreal.  I  little  thought 
one  year  agO  I  should  be  here  now  enjoying  so  many 
privileges,  so  many  happy  days.  I  have  been  to 
Montreal  several  times  and  intend  to  go  again  next 
week,  will  write  you  an  account  of  my  visit  in  my 

next   letter.     At  New  years, '  Mary  L -n  and   a 

sister  of  St.  A-n — e,  came  and  spent  a  week  with  us. 
Yon  may  be  sure  we  had  gay  times.  Since  that 
time  I  have  been  as  grave  as  a  Presbyterian  deacon. 

St.  A e  accuses  me  of  singing  Methodist  hymns, 

and  I  think  she  suspects  I  am  going  back  to  old  habits. 
Now  what  do  you  think  of  these  things  ?  But  to  re- 
turn— I  was  speaking  of  our  visitors.  Kev.  Mr. 
Comte  has  called  to  see  us  twice  lately — is  just  the 
same  as  ever-r-gave  pictures  to  all  the  children,  a 
conge,  his  blessing,  «fec.,  He  made  me  think  of  old 
times.  These  are  all  I  have  seen  at  St.  Eustache 
whom  you  know 

I  have  not  heard,  from  Sister  Helen  directly  for 
some  weeks.  Heard  from  mother  last  week  that 
Helen's  health  is  greatly  improved,  and  I  think  she  is 
quite  herself  this  winter.  My  second  sister,  Anna,  is 
going  to  become  a  Catholic.  Pray  for  her  I  beg  of 
you  for  I  fear  she  will  l.ave  her  share  of  trouble.  I 
am  daily  expecting  to  hear  about  it  from  Helen.  I 
need  not  tell  you  how  delighted  I  am  at  the  thought 
of  another  sister  a  Catholic. 

I  suppose  you  hear  from  Burlington  sometimes,  I 
have  no  news  from  Inhere  now,  my  only  correspondent 
having  left  for  Chicago— Miss  J s  of  vt^hom  you 


:J 


•■•'  !   ,    , 


•       *   ? 


t^.: 


106 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


have  heard  me  speak.  From  St.  Albans  I  hear  noth- 
ing. I  had  a  le+ter  from  Jennie  last  week.  Has  she 
written  to  you  ? 

I  suppose  Washington  is  gay  enough  just  now. 
The  inauguration  of  the  new  President  so  near  at 
hand.  You  will  probably  hear  accounts  of  the  fes- 
tivities, Uncle  and  Aunt  S are  there 

And  now  I  hope  you  will  tell  me  how  you  get 
along  teaching.  Are  you  in  a  Catholic  family  ?  Do 
you  feel  less  lonely  than  you  did  ?  I  shall  think  of 
you  very  very  often,  my  dear  Carrie,  and  now,  know- 
ing where  you  are,  will  write  often.  Lent  is  at  hand, 
and  in  all  the  exercises  of  these  holy  days  you  will 
not  be  forgotten.  No ;  I  will  think  and  pray  for 
you.  You  will  write  soon — will  you  not — and  tell 
me  about  your  health  and  all  particulars  of  your 
present  position.  I  hope  to  see  you  the  coming  sum- 
mer, if  not  in  Canada,  certainly  in  Vermont 

And  now,  my  Carrie,  good  bye !  I  love  you  as 
ever.  I  feel  for  you  in  your  loneliness.  I  know 
what  it  is  to  be  sad.  I  will  pray  for  you  as  fervently 
as  I  am  able.  That  is  a  poor  promise  for  my  prayers 
are  unworthy  ones,  but  offered  for  you  they  may  be 
heard.  I  am  happy  to  think  you  remember  me  after 
four  years  separation.  May  we  still  continue  warm 
friends.  Although  far  from  each  other,  we  can  meet 
in  spirit  in  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus.  Let  that  be 
our  resort.     Oh,  blessed  consolation  ! 

Here  are  kisses  for  you,  and  a  good  night  from 
your  sincere  and  affectionate  friend, 

"Debbie  M.  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Marie^ 
"  Convent  of  the  Congregation,  N.  D., 
St.  Eustache,  March,  1st  1857. 

"  My  beloved  L — e  :  I  am  not  waiting  so  long  as 
you  did,  my  friend,  to  answer  your  letter,  though  you 
were  not  very  tardy.  Our  correspondence  seems  to 
continue  now  as  in  other  days,  and  it  might  still  be 

said,  "  L — e  J s  and  Debbie  Barlow !"    I  trust  it 

may  ever  be  the  same 

"  You  speak  of  the  joyous  times  we  have  seen  in  old 
Vermont.     I  remember  them  well.     Yes  !  many  hap- 


a 

d 


w^. 


*lt1 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEUTS. 


107 


from 


V 


le. 


ng  as 
hyou 
ms  to 
till  be 
tust  it 


m 


old 
hap- 


py days  I  have  seen  there  and  many  sad  ones  too. 
God  alone  knows  what  the  latter  have  been.  I  am 
growing  to  be  myself  again,  L — e,  you  will  not  regret 
to  hear  this  will  you  ? 

"  They  say  I  am  getting  gay.  If  so,  I  am  getting 
sick  of  the  world.  I  have  put  my  trust  in  its  friend- 
ship and  have  learned  by  experience,  young  as  I  am, 
how  false  and  deceitful  it  is,  and  J  hope  I  shall  profit 
by  the  lessen.  I  have  sought  happine|p  in  its  pleas- 
ures, and  have  seen  how  shallow  is  t^  joy  arising 
from  them.  I  have  given  them  up  ;  ha^  formed  res- 
olutions against  them.  And  now,  what  think  you  of 
this  ?  If  you  hear  of  my  engaging  in  any  of  those 
things,  you  may  be  sure  I  am  obliged  to,  on  account 
of  my  position  towards  others,  and  not  through  my 

love  for  them I  am  now  more  peaceful  and 

happy  in  my  own  mind  than  I  have  been  for  a  long 
time,  and  I  think  the  cause  of  this  is  the  ^ood  design 
I  have  in  my  heart. 

"  I  am  hearing  often  from  home  now.  I  think 
they  are  more  reconciled  to  things  than  they  have 
been  ;  however,  I  do  not  know  how  long  it  may  last. 
You  know  how  it  has  been  and  I  will  say  no  niore. 
H«len  is  pretty  well,  and,  I  think,  bears  her   trials 

very  courageously Do  you  know  that   the 

father  of  those  young  B-r-s  who  graduated  at  Burling- 
ton, is  now  the  Presbyterian  minister  at  Fairfield. 
Of  course  Helen  has  called  upon  the  young  ladies. 
There  are  two  of  them. 

"  I  hear  nothing  from  Burlington  or  Highgate.  In 
fact  my  friends  with  whom  I  correspond  are  few.  I 
will  mention  them.  Your  own  dear  self.  Carrie 
G — d,  of  whom  you  have  often  heard  me  speak.  8he 
is  now  in  Maryland  teaching.  Jennie  S— ^e.  My 
kind  and  much  esteemed  Father  Reardon,  and  Sister 
Catherine  who  is  now  in  London,  C.  W.  These  are 
all  except  my  letters  from  home,  you  see  some  have 
dropped  off."     .... 

"  March  8tii — My  Dear  Mother — Your  letter  and 
Helen's  were  received  yesterday,  and  as  usual,  this 
afternoon,  after  Vespers,  I  have  time  to  answer  them^ 


>j| 


■■!*,., 


mw 


V}V%: 


:M'' 


•■-i^.- 


1. 


ti,' 


t:     *■ 


m'i* 


iiii 
ill 


108 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  so  much  "better We 

are  having  beautiful  weather,  after  a  series  of  stormy 
days.  I  have  had  a  cold,  but  have  now  recovered. 
Just  a  few  days  before  Lent  commenced,  the  nuns 
made  me  take  a  good  dose  of  castor  oil,  and  I  find  it 
has  been  a  benefit  to  me ;  I  imagine  they  wish  me  to 
eat  more  than  usual  during  the  fast  days.  I  am  quite 
well  now,  and  every  thing  goes  on  nicely.  I  went  to 
Montreal  last  Aveek.  I  shall  not  go  again  until  the 
snow  goes  o|^  for  I  was  terribly  sleigh-sick,  both  go- 
ing and  coriiiig  home.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meet- 
ing Mr.  S —  of  St.  Albans,  in  the  city.  I  had  been 
out  doing  a  little  shopping  for  Ma  Tante  St.  A — , 
and  when  returning,  met  him  on  the  side-walk.  He 
said  he  saw  father  a  few  days  before.  He  knew  me, 
and  of  course  I  knew  him.  Probably  he  has  seen 
some  of  you  since,  and  told  you.  I  only  stayed  at 
Montreal  one  night ;  had  but  very  little  time  there, 
and  felt  most  of  that  as  I  do  after  being  on  a  boat. 
I  am  glad  to  hear  you  are  enjoying  yourselves  this 
winter.  Helen  seems  to  be  perfectly  well.  Of  this  I 
am  not  sorry  to  hear,  and  she  seems  to  be  enjoying 
•the  winter  finely.  Is  A —  G — -  yet  married  ?  I  sup- 
posed she  vyas  to  have  been,  long  ago Every 

thing  goes  on  the  game  as  ever  at  the  missions.  St. 
A —  is  just  as  good  and  kind  as  ever,  and  takes  care 
of  me  well.  Sister  —  is  always  pleasant,  and  says 
she  shall  learn  to  speak  English,  quarrelling'  with  me  / 
She  does  not  understand  our  language  very  well.  It 
is  some  time  since  I  heard  from  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  our  family,  Anna,  Laura  and  Charlotte.  Tell 
them  they  must  write  to  me."     .... 

About  the  time  this  letter  was  written,  we  were 
favored  with  a  visit  from  dear  Helen.  IJer  presence 
was  always  like  a  sunbeam  in  our  shadowed  home  j 
she  was  so  brilliant  and  mirthful.  How  dearly  we 
loved  the  graceful  and  almost  pensive  serenity  of  our 
contemplative  Debbie,  and  the  energetic,  active  ear- 
nestness of  the  practical  Anna,  will  be  known  only 
when  the  secrets  of  all  hearts  are  revealed ;  but  Hel- 
en, our  sweet  Helen,  nestled  into  our  home  in  the 


•ill  I 


^'TV'T.>t> 


THE  YOUNG  CONVERTS. 


109 


mem- 
Tell 


were 
esence 
lome ; 
ly  we 
of  our 
;e  ear- 
n  only- 
it  Hel- 
in  the 


wilderness  like  a  bird  that  was  native  there,  filling 
the  echoing  forests  with  the  melody  of  her  angelic 
songs,  and  enlivening  every  scene  with  the  gayety 
of  her  innocent  heart.  Dear  to  our  hearts  as  are  the 
memories  of  all  these  charming  sisters,  we  still  linger 
upon  those  connected  with  the  "  first  flown"  of  the 
three,  vsrith  tender  emotions  gushing  up  from  abysses, 
the  depths  of  which  these  alone  have  the  power  to 
stir,  while  we  exclaim,  "Oh,  iT^fcw  was_ our  beautiful, 
our  lovely,  and  our  best  beloved  one  !" 

"  St.  Eustaciie,  March  15  :  My  Dear  Mother — My 
things  came  yesterday  by  express.  Your  taste  was 
very  good  in  selecting  them,  and  all  suited.  Many, 
many  thanks  for  all.  I  wrote  you  a  few  days  since, 
and  write  now  merely  to  acknowledge  the  reception 

of  the  box I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  haste. 

I  received  several  newspapers  with  the  box,  and  was 
right  glad  to  get  them."  ....  The  following  let- 
ter from  Helen,  to  a  very  dear  Aunt,  was  written 
about  this  time. 

"  Fairfield,  March  25tii,  1857  :  My  Dear  Aunt 
— Pardon  my  long  silence.  I  really  cannot  give  any 
good  reason  for  not  writing  before,  only  that  I  have 
felt  so  little  inclined  to  write.  AH  my  correspon- 
dents have  been  neglected  in  the  *sarafe  way,  and  they 
have  good  reason  to  complain.  Why  did  you  think, 
my  dear  Aunt,  that  I  was  not  happy  ?  Surely  /  am. 
I  think  I  can  safely  say  that  not  a  happier  heart 
beats  in  human  breast  than  mine ;  it  was  not  so  once. 
I  have  known  what  it  was  to  be  unhappy.  For  long 
years  I  sighed  for  happiness,  and  could  not  find  it. 
There  was  an  aching  void  in  my  heart  that  even  the 
knowledge  that  I  was  beloved  by  a  human  being  like 
myself,  could  not  fill ;  and  what  will  fill  the  human 
heart  with  pleasure  like  the  knowledge  of  being  be- 
loved ?  But  it  was  not  human  love  1  sighed  for,  but 
the  love  of  my  God !  I  now  have  found  the  abiding 
rest  for  which  I  sighed  so  long,  and  I  am  happy, 
happy.  Earth  hardly  satisfies  my  longing  desires  ; 
only  in  Heaven  where  faith  is  turned  to  sight,  can  I 
be  fully  satisfied.     Oh  !  what  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to 


i«  '..- 


r  '  .:" 


i*;-' 


i 


110 


TUB   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


;'■>■. 


know  that  our  sins  are  washed  away  in  the  all-aton- 
inGf  Blood  of  our  Redeemer !  Oh  that  we  were  not 
bound  down  to  earth  by  this  load  of  flesh,  but  could 
soar  far  above  it — and  the  sins  that  every  day  leave 
a  stain  upon  our  robe  of  baptismal  innocence — and 
sing  the  praises  of  our  Redeemer,  where  sin  can  no 
more  cloud  our  visions  of  his  brightness  !  The  heart 
can  not  but  be  impatient,  yet  it  is  better  for  us  to  re- 
main for  a  while,  that  God  may  be  glorified  in  us,  for 
we  will  conquer  Satan,  and  God  shall  have  the  glory. 
Trials  are  sent  to  perfect  us — are  they  not.  Aunty  ? 
Oh !  that  more  might  be  sent  me,  for  this  world 
gives  me  none,  and  I  shall  be  detained  long,  very 
long,  if  no  fire  is  sent  to  purify  me  here.  Sometimes 
I  am  weary  struggling  against  temptations,  and 
then  I  know  God  is  displeased  with  me ;  therefore 
He  deems  me  not  worthy  of  those  trials  He  sends  to 
those  He  loves."     .... 

"  Convent  op  tfik  Conqregatign,  N.  D.,  ) 
St.  Eustache,  March,  29th,  1857.      ) 

"  My  Dear  Carrie  :  I  was  glad  to  hear  from  your 
last  that  you  once  more  enjoy  some  of  the  privileges 
you  had  so  recently  lost.  I  hope  and  pray  that  this 
may  be  of  long  continuance  for,  I  am  sure,  to  be  de- 
prived of  those  things  is  one  of  the  greatest  trials  we 
can  meet.  I  could  not  fail  to  congratulate  you  on 
this,  the  first  thing. 

"  You  speak  of  being  in  Washington  at  the  Inaug- 
uration. So  you  can  occasionally  get  out  of  your  re- 
treat ?  I  am  glad  of  this,  for  my  imagination  has 
pictured  you  in  rather  a  lonely  place.     I  was  sorry 

you  did  not  see  more  of  Mrs.  S ,  as  I  think  you 

would  have  found  her  very  pleasant,  and  I  am  sure 
she  would  have  been  very  happy  to  have  seen  you. 

"  You  requested  a  few  details  of  my  visit  to  Mon- 
treal. I  cannot  say  that  I  saw  many  persons  of  your 
acquaintance.  I  was  very  busy  all  the  time — shop- 
ping almost  every  minute— and  if  you  find  that  as 
disagreeable  as  I  do,  you  will  know  how  little  I  en- 
joyed it.     I  spent  the  first  night  at  Maria  Villa  and 


I  ^m 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


Ill 


saw  St.  G 1  and  St.  G— 

former  teachers  who  are  there 


e  the  only  ones  of  your 
They  inquired  par- 


ticularly how  you  were  situated,  and  sent  their  love 
to  you.  I  saw  Miss  K — .  She  is  very  well  and  per- 
fectly contented At  the  city  I  saw  St.  J — e 

and  St.  P — e  your  former  teachers.  How  many 
changes  in  a  few  short  years.  I  do  not  see  one  fa- 
miliar face  among  the  boarders,  none  we  knew  except 
Mary  L — n  and  I  think  you  knew  Louisa  M — n. 
She  is  at  Maria  Villa.  As  I  have  said,  I  was  in  the 
streets  most  of  the  time.  I  saw  Father  Conolly, 
went  to  Confession  to  him.  He  is  just  as  good  and 
kind  as  ever.     He  was  making  great  preparations  for 

the  Feast  of  St.  Patrick   when  I  saw  him Ma 

Tante  St.  A — e  has  told  you  all  the  news  of  your  for- 
mer companions  in  her  letter.  I  find,  notwithstand- 
ing the  changes  at  the  boarding  school,  that  the  con- 
vent is  ever  the  same.  I  cried  on  leaving  it  the  last 
time.  It  was  like  leaving  a  dear  and  cherished 
home ;  I  felt  sad  and  down-hearted,  and  when  I  think 
I  have  to  bid  them  good  bye  again,  I  have  the  same 
sentiments.  No  matter  where  I  may  be,  I  shall  ever 
feel  that  there  is  no  spot  on  earth  so  dear.  And  well 
I  may  feel  this.  My  happiness  is  all  the  result  of  six 
months  sojourn  in  Uie  Convent  of  the  Congregation, 
N.  D.  Why  should  I  not  love  it  ?  I  need  not  speak 
of  this,  my  dear  Carrie,  to  you  who  know  how  I 
cherish  the  memory  of  those  days.  I  am  still  as  hap- 
py as  ever  at  St.  Eustache 

"  We  are  now  in  Passion  Week.  Remember  me 
sometimes,  Carrie,  and  be  assured  you  will  not  be 
forgotten.  I  know  you  will  grant  this  request,  for  I 
trust  I  am  often  thought  of  in  your  prayers,  in  fact 
you  have  promised  to  perform  this  act  of  charity  for 


me. 


5) 


•      •      •      • 


We  return  to  the  Diary  at  St.  Eustache : 
"  April  9th,  Holy  Thursday  :  went  to  High  Mass, 
and  reeeived  Holy  Communion.  At  three  o'clock  we 
went  to  visit  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  and  remained 
an  hour.  The  Repository  looks  very  weir.  In  the 
evening  we  went  again  at  about  six  o'clock,  to  secure 


112 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


I       .  r 

-    t;» . 


.    ••« 


good  seats  for  the  evening  prayers.  We  were  direct- 
ly in  front  of  the  Altar,  and  had  arrived  long  enough 
before  the  time  appointed  to  have  a  full  half  hour, 
quiet  und  undisturbed.  The  stillness,  the  silent  few 
who- were  paying  their  adorations  to  Jesus  in  His  Sa- 
crament of  Love — the  dim  light  of  the  tapers,  and  the 
thought  that  He  was  there  really,  not  in  imagination, 
but  truly  present,  listening  to  the  petitions  of  His 
creatures,  made  me  feel  that  all  of  this  earth  was  lit- 
tle worth  our  love,  and  that  the  most  we  could  do  for 
Him  was  nothing  in  comparison  with  His  great,  unlim- 
ited love  for  us :  and  /,  who  should  be,  the  whole 
day  and  every  day,  doing  something  in  return  for  His 
graces,  often  forget  Him  !  At  eleven  o'clock,  ma 
Tante  St.  A —  awoke  me,  as  I  had  requested,  and  we  • 
went  to  the  chapel  to  remain  an  hour,  in  commem- 
oration of  our  Saviour's  agony  in  the  garden — the 
first  time  I  have  ever  passed  that  hour  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament," 

"  April  10th,  Good  Friday  !  A  day  which  is  ever 
dearer  to  me  than  any  other  of  the  year  can  be  ! — one 
in  which  I  love  to  spend  hours  in  thinking  of  the  past, 
in  bringing  to  mind  my  first  thoughts  on  entering  a 
Catholic  chapel  on  that  day,  four  years  ago.  Why 
speah  of  it  now  ?  Meditation  is  more  suited  to  my  feel- 
ings than  words,  at  this  time !" 

"  Convent  of  the  Congregation,  > 
St.  Eusstaciie,  April  12, 1857.  \ 
"  My  dear  Father  :  Your  letter  was  received  yes- 
terday, and  I  need  not  say  that  it  gave  me  the  great- 
est imaginable  pleasure.  It  was  almost  too  good  for 
Lent,  but  to  have  left  it  until  to-day  would  have  been 
too  great  a  sacrifice.  I  was  not  strong  enough  for 
that,  and  it  was  read  and  re-read  with  as  much  de- 
light as  if  it  had  been  one  of  the  most  joyous  feasts 
of  the  year,  instead  of  Holy  Saturday.  To-day  I 
could  not  fail  to  answer  it.  Your  letter  was  unex- 
pected, therefore  it  gave  me  a  great  surprise.  Your 
account  of  your  stay  in  Washington  was  very  inter- 
esting. I  noticed  in  particular  what  you  said  in  re- 
gard to  your  visit  at  Judge  Douglas's.      I  beard  he 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


113 


'^Bl 


.*i 


had  manletl  a  young  Catholic  lady  ;  I  am  glad  you 
found  her  so  interesting.  Is  Uncle  —  still  in  Wash- 
ington ?  I  heard  of  him  in  Washington,  and  Aunt 
—  with  him,  about  the  time  of  the  Inauguration.  I 
have  heard  of  late  a  little  of  the  public  affairs  at  home, 
for  the  St.  Albans  Sfessengcr  has  arrived  regularly  for 
the  last  few  weeks.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  reading  the 
Inaugural  Address  of  Mr.  Buchanan,  and  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  4th  of  March  at  the  Capitol,  in  a  French 
paper  published  in  Montreal. 

"  You  ask  how  I  am,  how  I  like,  etc.     My  health 
is  good  ;    I  have  never  bpen  better.     The  nuns  hero 
are  two  excellent  persons.     St.  A —  you  knew  long 
ago,  at  least  by  reputation.      I    am   sure   I   never 
could  have  found  persons  more  kind  than  they  are. 
We  do  not  often  go  out  to  call,  but  we  have  visits 
from  the  first  families  of  the  parish ;  and  there  is  some 
very  good  society  here,  I   assure  you.      I  find  tho 
French   cxcecdinly  pleasant  people,  and  very  polite 
— great  talkers,  and   consequently  good   company ; 
much  gayer  than  the  Americans,  but  seem  to  have 
less  stability.     Upon  the  whole  I  like  them  extreme- 
ly well.     But  to  return  to  my  subject :    Speaking  of 
the  nuns  here,  I  find  the  situation  pleasant  in  every  re- 
spect, and  if  things  continue  the  same  after  vacation, 
I  would  like  to  return  in  September,  since  you  desire 
I  should  continue  French,  and  I  desire  it  myself  also. 
At  present  I  understand  all  of  common  conversation, 
and  nearly  all  I  read.      St.  A —  says  I  am  a  little 
proud  about  speaking^  before  her  at  least,  for  she  speaks 
both  language.-  perfectly  well.      However,  the  other 
Sister  here  speaks  nothing  but  French.      Afternoon: 
I  have  returned  from  church,  and  think  I  shall  have 
time,  before  Vespers,  to  finish  my  letter.     To-day  is 
the  first  time  it  has  looked  quite  as  though  Spring  had 

come We  have  had  a  strange  winter ;    so 

changeable :  not  so  much  more  severe  than  others, 
but  decidedly /r^fl^y Give  my  love  to  moth- 
er, and  all  at  home.  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  again  from  you.  My  father  could  not  give 
me  greater  joy.     And  now,  until  I  see  you,  remember 


114 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


l>, 


ill 


that  ray  thoughts  are  often  with  you :  not  a  day,  no, 
perhaps  not  an  hour,  that  my  best  wishes  are  not  spo- 
ken, or,  at  least,  mentally  desired  for  your  welfare. — 
If  I  cannot  do  any  thing  in  return  for  your  solicitude 
for  me  in  one  way,  perhaps  I  can  in  another.      Once 

more,  good-bye Your  affectionate  child, 

"  JDebbie  S.  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Marie.'''' 

"  CONOREQATION  OP  NoKTRE  DaME,  > 

St.  Eustacue,  April  14, 1857.  \ 
"My  dear  Mother  :  Your  letterhas  just  been  receiv- 
ed, and  I  have  only  to  say  in  reply  to  your  questions  : 
77*^1^  gentleman  and  myself  are  no  more  than  friends^ 
and  there  has  never  been  any  engagement  existing. 
Xow  I  have  told  you  this  many  times  before,  and  tell 
you  again,  that  this  may  end  the  matter !  I  am  not*- 
one  of  the  persons  who  trouble  themselves  over  and 
ahme  much  about  such  matters :  this  you  must  know. 
Whether  I  shall  ever  be  engaged  to  any  one  is 
another  question  w^hich  time  will  solve.  If  I  never 
am,  you  may  rest  assured  I  shall  live  just  as  long, 
and  be  quite  as  well  contented.  You  mwt  know,  in 
.seeing  your  daughters  Catholics,  that  their  chances 
are  few,  so  far  as  the  prospects  of  this  world  are  con- 
cerned ;  but  do  not  imagine  they  are  discouraged  at 
this.  Far  from  it !  When  I  became  a  member  of 
the  Catholic  Church  I  did  not  lose,  I  gained.  I  lost 
nothing,  not  even  if  all  the  fondest  pleasures  of  life 
were  sacrificed  :  I  gained  what,  this  world  can  never 
give  ! — what  our  holy  religion  alone  can  bestow  ! — 
Yes,  I  gained,  I  repeat  it,  and  in  becoming  one  of  the 
children  of  the  Church  of  Christ,  I  counted  every 
thing  in  this  world  as  mere  nothing,  compared  with 
the  privileges  I  enjoy  as  a  Catholic  Christian  !  So  do 
not  fear  for  me !  I  am  not  sorry  for  anything  I  have 
done,  or  have  had  to  do.  You  know  the  Catholic 
Church  forbids  marriage  with  Protestants,  and  I  am 
most  happy  to  think  she  does.  Protestants  abhor  our  * 
religion,  and  so  we  are  equal.  You  seem  to  think  that 
I  am  needed  at  home  :  I  shall  follow  the  will  of  God, 
which  seems  to  demand  I  should  spend  a  portion  of 
my  life  there,  at  any  rate.     Do  not  give  yourself  fur- 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


115 


■i  I 
1* 


tliftr  trouble.  I  am  a  reasonable  person,  and  if  I  live 
and  die  an  ^oid  mai(V  at  Fairfield,  1  shall  not  care.  I 
expect  a  long  time  will  see  me  there." 

"  CONOUEQATION  OF  NoTRE   DaME,  > 

St.  Eustaciie,  April  17,  1857.  \ 
"  My  Dear  Mother :  I  received  you  letter  contain- 
ing the  sad  intelligence  of  grandmother's  death.  I 
could  not  feel  otherwise  than  that  it  was  better  so, 
since  she  has)  been  so  long  failing,  and  her  mind  so 
much  impaired.  Still,  let  Death  come  when  it  will, 
and  where  it  may,  it  is  always  sad.  It  gives  to  each 
one  a  time  for  reflection,  and  a  new  impulse  to 
the  soul  to  prepare  and  be  always  ready,  for  even 
if  we  reach  an  old  age,  still  we  must  at  last  yield  to 
Death  and  go  :  earth  is  not  our  abiding-place  !  I  hope 
father  reached  home  in  time  for  the  funeral — did  he  ? 
At  least  aunts  D —  and  L —  reached  home  before  her 
death.  I  am  very  glad  of  it,  especially  on  your  ac- 
count. I  shall  look  for  a  letter  soon,  giving  more  of 
the  particulars.  Father  wrote  me  while  in  Washing- 
ton, and  I  have  answered  his  letter,  which  was  receiv- 
ed on  Holy  Saturday.  He  will  regret  his  absence,  I 
am  sure,  at  this  time.  However,  if  grandmother  was 
unconscious,  it  could  not  have  been  a  great  consola- 
tion to  have  seen  her.  Who  conducted  the  funeral 
services  ? — that  is,  what  clergyman  ?  And  the  friends 
— were  there  many  present  ?    I  presume  you  are  tired 

enough.     I  hope  you  will  not  get  sick.     St.  A 

sends  her  love,  and  condoles  with  you  in  your  afflic- 
tion.    Let  me  hear  soon  again."     .... 

Diary  :  "  April  Wth. — This  morning  we  had  Mass, 
and  all  received  Holy  Communion.  A  happy  day 
again.  Yes !  a  thrice  happy  day  !  It  seems  as  if  the 
hour  spent  this  morning  was  so  short — passed  so 
quickly  !  Oh,  my  God  !  and  hast  Thou  been  here  in 
my  heart  once  more !  Yes !  there  is  no  room  for 
doubt !  Faith,  blessed  faith,  teaches  us  this  :  that  He, 
our  Creator,  disdains  not  to  come  and  feed  our  souls 
with  that  Heavenly  bread  !  Yes,  He  comes  ! — were  I 
not  assured  by  the  very  words  of  His  mouth,  I  should 
be  tempted  to  think  He  could  not  have  loved  us  so  ! 


I''  i<  . 

<■*'■» 


116 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


But  why  speak  ?  lie  come.'^ !  Oli  my  soul !  in  sudi  a 
moment  as  this  what  canst  thou  say  ?  Canst  thou 
know  that  it  is  thy  Jems^  and  live  ?  Canst  thou  icei 
tliat  He  is  so  near,  opening  His  treasures,  purifying 
thee  from  the  stains  of  sin,  pouring  His  graces  ujjon 
tliee,  and  remain  indifferent  ?  Canst  thou  know  tiiat 
He  who  came  from  heaven,  lias  been  made  man,  has 
suffered  and  died  upon  the  Cross  for  love  of  thee,  and 
now  crowns  all  by  coming  to  take  up  His  abode  with 
thee  ? — canst  thou  know  all  this,  and  not  feel  that 
there  is  no  pleasure  in  the  world  but  that  which  is 
found  in  His  service  ?  Can  my  heart  be  cohl  whcai  I 
have  Him  who  is  all  love  for  me  as  its  guest  ?  Ah  !  it 
is  too  often  so !  Yes !  my  God,  how  often  do  I  ap- 
proach to  receive  Thee  with  little  love,  with  perhaps 
a  very  faint  desire  of  possessing  Thee.  But  to-day 
is  passed.  I  have  had  the  happiness  of  receiving  an- 
other visit  from  my  Redeemer  this  morning;  Oh, 
would  that  I  might  keep  His  graces,  that  I  might 
live  one  day  without  willingly  ofifending  Him.  Alas  ! 
while  I  live,  I  am  always  in  danger  of  being  ungrate- 
ful towards  my  God." 

"  May  \d. — The  anniversary  of  Helen's  baptism. 
One  year  ago  I  stood  beside  her  at  the  Altar,  and  saw 
the  regenerating  waters  descend  upon  her.  Oh ! 
what  a  joyous  day — but  all  joy  is  mingled  with  sor- 
row !  A  year  has  passed,  and  to-day  I  am  far  sepa- 
rated from  that  dear  sister,  but  in  spirit  I  have  been 
with  her.  I  offered  my  Communion  yesterday  for 
her,  and  she  has  often  been  with  me  in  my  actions 
since.  I  am  sure  she  is  not  sad  to-day,  even  though 
the  sacrifice  has  been  great  which  has  been  required 
from  her;   still  the  recompense  will  be  much  greater." 

About  this  time  a  rumor  began  to  circulate  in  Ver- 
mont, that  Debbie  was  intending  to  become  a  nnn, 
and  had  even  taken  some  preliminary  vow  in  that  di- 
rection. Her  parents  were  greatly  distressed  upon 
hearing  this  report,  and  caused  Helen  to  write  imme- 
diately, inquiring  of  her  as  to  its  truth.     In  reply  to 


that  letter,  she  says 

«    fit    T^^Tia-n*/^TTT,     A/l 


St  EusTACiiE,  May  IGtii,  '57 — My  dear  Parents, 


k    Si 


THE    YOUNG   CONVEHTS. 


117 


rl 

1i 


I  liavo  just  rccoivcil  Ilolon's  letter,  Jatoi.!  the  12th, 
juul  atii  sotncwliat  siirprisotl  to  hear  that  you  are  nil 
in  80  much  anxiety  adout  my  becoming  a  nun  !  When 
I  left  home,  I  gave  my  word  that  I  would  return  ;  iry 
intention  is  not  otherwise  at  present.  I  have  made 
that  promise  ;  it  will  bo  fulfilled  perfectly.  I  shall 
bo  at  home,  at  the  farthest,  the  last  week  in  July  ;  I 
gave  my  word  for  it,  and  you  may  expect  mo  if  I  am 
living,  and  when  there  shall  probably  remain  as  long 
you  will  want  mo.  Every  one  seems  to  imagine  that 
I  am  in   great  haste.     I   wish   to   assure    you   that 

Mr. ,  of  whom  you  speak, (or  rather  Helen  does  in 

her  letter,)  expects  nothing  else  than  that  I  should 
return  to  Vermont,  and  desires  nothing  else ;  there- 
fore, I  imagine  lehas  been  far  from  spreading  any 
such  reports  as  you  have  heard.  1  am  very  well  and 
very  contented,  as  usual.  I  hope  you  are  all  in  good 
health  at  home.  I  received  the  money  father  sent, 
and  thank  him  very  much  for  it.  1  shall  probably  go 
to  Montreal  the  last  week  of  this  month.  I  receive 
the  St  Albans  2lessenger  regularly.  It  has  just  como 
with  Helen's  letter.  I  preceive  she  is  much  engaged 
in  her  sohool.  Do  not  let  her  get  sick,  for  when  I  go 
home,  I  shall  want  all  in  gO;>d  trim.  As  I  suppose, 
after  a  year's  absence,  the  news  will  be  plenty  ;  I  shal  1 
wish  to  hear  all,  and  it  requires  some  one  who  talks 
about  as  fast  as  Helen  does,  to  tell  them.  My  love 
to  all.  I  hope  to  hear  soon  and  often.  Your  affec- 
tionate child, 

"Debbie  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Maric.^^ 
Diary  :  •'  Mav  17tii.  I  am  very  anxious  to  hear 
again  from  home,  for  I  atn  in  constant  dread  that  they 
may  come  for  me.  I  begin  to  feel  sad  ♦■o  think  vaca- 
tions are  near,  and  I  must  again  leave  the  Convent  of 
the  Congregation.  I  shall  soon  wish  to  be  back,  af- 
ter my  return  ihome,  and  I  imagine  the  long  hours 
when  I  shall  sigh  for  the  happiness  of  convent  life,  the 
quiet  of  St.  Eustache,  and,  more  than  all,  the  frequent 
visits  to  Montreal.  It  is  said  that  '  home  is  where  the 
heart  is.'  I  know  well,  then,  where  mine  is;  and  when 
1  shall  be  far  away,  my  thoughts  will  often  wander 


118 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


i .  .¥* 


'f  ™" 


i^ 


il  i  i 

1 

1              '  ■ 

A.'  "^ 

back  to  the  Congregation  of  Notre  Dame,  and  there 
find  their  resting-place.  Splendor  speaks  in  vain  to 
an  exile ;  and  pleasure,  short-lived,  deceitful  pleasure, 
relieves  but  for  an  instant  the  pain  of  banishment. 
Amidst  the  noise  and  bustle  of  a  busy  v^'^orld,  surround- 
ed  by  vanity  and  fading  joys,  his  heart  turns  from  this 
strange  land,  and  finds  its  happiness  but  in  thoughts 
of  home!  And  thus  shall  I  feel  when  once  more 
I  leave  my  convent  home.  I  have  already  experienc- 
ed the  pain  of  absence  from  that  loved  spot,  and  the 
second  time  will  be  worse  than  the  first.  But  hope 
on,  hope  ever;  there  may  be  an  end  of  it  before  very 
long !  God's  will,  not  mine,  be  done,  I  leave  all 
things  in  His  hands  and  with  the  Blessed  Virgin  to 
assist  me,  all  must  be  right." 

It  may  be  proper  to  notice  here,  a  feature,  not  the 
least  singular  among  those  which  characterized  her 
remarkable  religious  life  that  with  all  her  yearning 
fondness  and  devoted  attachment  to  her  dear  "  con- 
vent home"  and  its  holy  inmates,  she  never  felt  that 
she  was  destined  to  be  a  member  of  that  favored 
community.  I  was  indeed  very  much  surprised  in  the 
course  of  the  first  conversation  I  had  with  her,  (some 
months  after  the  death  of  her  sister  Helen,)  upon  a 
subject  so  sacred,  that  it  should  be  approached  by  those 
in  secular  life  with  the  greatest  reverence,  to  find  that 
while  she  felt  assured  of  her  vocation  to  consecrate  her 
life  at  some  future  period  to  God,  it  was  also  clearly 
indicated  to  her  as  His  will  that,  (whatever  sacrifice  it 
might  cost  her,)  the  oblation  should  bo  laid  upon  the 
altar  of  the  corporal  works  of  mercy,  in  her  own  coun- 
try, and  among  her  own  people.  Knowing  nothing 
whatever  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  their  rule  or  the  con- 
ditions of  entrance  into  the  Order,  she  still  felt  her- 
self drawn  to  that  Institute,  and  desired  to  partake 
with  them  in  those  labors  which'should  entitle  her  to 
claim  a  share  also  in  that  gracious  invitation  of  Him, 
whom  alone  she  desired  to  serve  in  His  poor, — "  come 
ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepar- 
ed for  you  from  the  foundation  of  the  world.  For  I 
was  hungry  and  yow  gave  me  meat ;  I  was  thirsty  and 


--^u 


THE   YOUNa   CONVERTS. 


119 


i  there 
vain  to 
Icasurc, 
shment. 
irroimd- 
rom  this 
houglits 
:e  more 
perienc- 
and  the 
ut  hope 
ore  very 
leave  all 
irgin  to 

not  the 
ized  her 


(( 


IX  "  con- 
felt  that 
favored 
d  in  the 
',  (some 

upon  a 
Dy  those 
ind  tliat 
rate  her 

clearly 
crifice  it 
pon  the 
vn  coun- 
nothing 
the  con- 
'elt  her- 
partako 
e  her  to 
of  Him, 
-"  come 

prepar- 

For  I 

rr,ty  and 


you  gave  me  drink ;  I  was  a  stranger  and  yon  took 
me  in ;  naked  and  you  clothed  me ;  I  was  sick,  and  you 
visited  me  ;  I  was  in  prison,  and  you  came  unto  me." 
Although  He  did  not  premit  her  to  realize  her  ardent 
desire  in  this  world,  we  cannot  doubt  that  He  will  be- 
stow the  same  reward  upon  her  in  another  for  her  pious 
and  sincere  intentions,  as  if  she  had  lived  to  fulfill 
them. 

The  letter  last  presented  to  the  reader  did  not  prove 
at  all  satisfactory  to  her  father,  who  still  feared  she 
entertained  intentions  which  were  far  from  her  thoughts 
at  that  time.  He,  therefore,  wrote  to  her  himself,  re- 
questing an  explicit  and  decided  answer  to  his  ques- 
tions. She  replied  : 

"  CONOREOATION  OF  NOTRE  DaME,  } 

St.  Eustaciie,  May  29, 1857.  \ 
"  My  dear  Parents  :  I  have  just  received  the  answer 
to  my  letter,  and  am  somewhat  surprised  that  my 
reply  to  Helen's  last  was  not  a  sufficient  assurance 
against  the  reports  that  are  circulating  in  Ver- 
mont I  thought  I  was  plain  enough^  but  as  it  seems  to 
be  necessary,  I  will  write  again.  I  cannot  see  why  you 
should  put  so  much  dependence  upon  what  you  hear. 
I  have  never  taken  any  vows^  and,  more  than  that, 
never  said  I  wouli\  to  any  living  being.  I  have  no 
other  intention,  at  present,  than  that  which  I  express- 
ed in  my  last  letter.  As  for  what  future  years  may 
bring  forth,  I  cannot  say,  nor  any  one  else  ;  for  the 
present,  you  may  content  yourselves,  for  I  have  come 
to  no  such  decision  as  you  have  heard.  But  now, 
since  you  have  so  poor  an  opinion  of  my  truth,  and 
you  seem  to  think  that  this  defect  has  arisen  in  my 
character  since  I  have  embraced  the  Catholic  faith.  I 
wish  to  say  a  few  words.  I  am  very  sorry  that  my 
good  Father  has  this  opinion  of  me,  but  I  would  much 
prefer  him  to  cast  the  slur  upon  me  than  upon  the 
Holy  religion  I  profess ;  but  that  he  shall  not  have 
cause  to  complain  of  mo  on  this  subject,  I  will  rcreat 
what  I  have  often  said  at  home;  that  is,  that  no  one 
need  ever  expect  me  to  form  any  engagement,  or  dream 
that  I  will  ever  enter  the  married  life  !     This  u  a  thing 


120 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


,    * 


long  a.go  settled, — a  Jlxed  determmation,  which  is  just 

as  strong   now  as  ever My  resohition  yon 

have  often  heard.  I  suppose  there  is  no  need  of  fur- 
ther explanations.  I  have  given  you  what  I  think  to 
he  a  frank  answer  to  your  questions,  and  regard  for 
your  feelings  has  been  my  principle.  Yes,  it  has  al- 
ways been ;  and  what  pahis  me  the  most  of  anything 
in  this  world  is,  that  ray  father  has  such  an  opinion  of 
me  as  to  think  I  would  afEict  him  willingly.  If  ho 
could  know  how  I  felt,  when  reading  his  letter — how 
many  tears  of  sorrow  I  have  shed  over  the  thought 
that  he  believes  me  heartless,  he  would  not  repeat  the 
assertion !  I  think  I  have  given  him  sufficient 
proofs  that  I  respect  his  commands,  that  I  love  to  do 
all  that  he  can  desire,  when  it  does  not  go  contrary  to 
my  first  duty,  which  is  to  my  God  !  And  he  should 
know  that  on  this  earth,  my  affections  are  for  my  par- 
ents. I  have  none,  I  shall  never  have  any  one  before 
them.  I  need  not  repeat  these  words — they  are  only 
too  familiar  to  you  now.  I  hope  you  will  cease  to  be 
uneasy,  and  believe  me  to  be  happy  and  contented. 
Your  affectionate  child, 

"  M.  D.  Barlow,  Enfant  de  Marie.'''' 


"  Congregation  de  Notre  Dame,  ) 
St,  Eustache,  June  2,  1857.      \ 

"  My  Dear  L e  :     ....     Since  I  wrote  you  last 

I  have  been  in  Montreal.  I  must  tell  you  about  my 
visit.  It  was  last  week.  I  received  a  letter  from 
Maria  7illa,  the  boarding-school  of  the  sisters  of  the 
Congregation,  to  be  there  the  2Gth  of  May,  for  the 
coronation  of  their  May  Queen.  The  one  who  had 
been  elected  was  the  sister  of  my  friend  St.  A — c. 
She  is  a  lovely  girl  about  seventeen  years  old :  her 
place  of  residence  is  Quebec.  Maria  Villa  is  a  mag- 
nificent place  on  the  mountain  of  Mount  Royal.  Tlie 
boarding-school  is  one  of  the  best  in  Canada.  The 
young  ladies  number  generally  about  one  hundred. 
Every  year  they  elect  one  for  their  Queen,  and  she  is 
crowned  with  great  ceremony.  I  will  give  you  a  brief 
description  of  that  day.     I  arrived  the  evening  pre- 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


121 


just 
L  you 
f  fur- 
nk  to 
•d  for 
as  al- 
'thing 
Lon  of 

If  ho 
— liow 

LOUght 

sat  the 
[ficient 

to  do 
i-ary  to 
should 
[ly  par- 

before 
re  only 
ic  to  bo 
tented. 


1? 


arte. 

IB,  ) 

ou  hist 
out  my 
froui 
of  the 
or  the 
ho  had 
A— e. 
1:   her 


3r 


It 


a  mag- 
The 


1. 


111. 

The 

undred. 

1  she  is 

a  brief 

mg  pre- 


vious, and  the  next  day  was  of  course  a  grand  holi- 
day. About  one  o'clock  I  went  to  assist  the  Queen 
elect  to  dress,  and  about  two  o'clock  the  ceremonies 
commenced.  The  hall  opened  for  the  occasion  is  said 
to  be  one  of  the  finest  on  this  continent.  In  one  end 
large  evergreen  trees  were  raised,  and  a  statue  of  the 
ever  Blessed  Virgin  mounted  on  a  very  high  pedest- 
al in  the  centre.  The  throne  was  then  raised  about 
five  steps  from  the  floor,  and  vases  of  flowers  and  or- 
naments of  different  kinds  were  placed  beside  the 
Queen's  chair  and  those  of  her  two  first  maids  of  hon- 
or. The  people  having  arrived,  the  Bishop  was  an- 
nounced by  a  grand  trio  upon  tha  piano.  It  was  the 
Bishop  of  Oregon  who  crowned  her.  After  the  mu- 
sic, a  kind  of  Drama  was  enacted,  which  I  am  sure 
you  would  have  thought  beautiful.  It  seemed  to  be 
company  of  young  girls  who  were  lamenting  the  loss 
of  their  sovereign,  and  were  consulting  upon  the 
choice  of  another,  who  should  be  one  noted  for  her 
virtues,  and  beloved  by  all.  In  the  midst  of  their 
conversation,  two  angels  appeared  to  them,  clothed 
in  white,  with  their  long  hair  loose  down  their  backs, 
and  wreaths  of  flowers  on  their  heads.  They  came 
as  Messengers  from  Heaven,  to  tell  them  who  had 
been  chosen  by  the  celestial  courts  as  their  Queen. 
They  spoke  of  her  humility,  her  mildness,  her  piety, 
and  of  all  her  virtues,  and  the  young  maidens  at 
length  besought  the  two  angels  to  bring  her  to  them, 
that  they  might  see  and  acknowledge  her  as  their 
sovereign.  They  disappeared,  and  soon  returned, 
leading  iier,  and  followed  by  ten  maids  of  honor. 
She  looked  lovely,  dressed  in  white  muslin,  trimmed 
with  satin  ribbon  and  white  French  roses,  a  beau- 
tiful veil  which  reached  to  the  floor — white  slip- 
pers and  gloves  :  and  beside  her  angel  conductors 
were  two  little  uhildren  about  seven  vears  old,  bear- 
ing  upon  a  large  silver  plate  her  crown.  The  maids 
of  honor  were  in  blue,  with  white  v^ils.  After  being 
[•resented  to  her  subjects,  she  was  led  forward  and 
knelt  to  receive  the  crown  ;  after  which  she  ascended 
tlie  throne,  atteuiled  by  her  maids,  while  the  grand 


'i  /.-¥'' 
''■'  ^H 

4    >i    ' 
.       «!■ 

■■■■■,> " 

1      .- 


>      • 


122 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


Coronation  March,  as.a  trio,  was  played.  Then  fol- 
lowed '*  An  A-ddress  to  our  Queen,"  by  one  of  her  first 
maids,  and  the  address  of  the  Queen  spoken  by  her 
first  maid  of  honor.  Singling,  and  a  few  words  by 
the  Bishop,  and  the  procession  left  the  hall  for  the 
chapel,  where  we  had  Benediction, of  the  Blessed  Sa- 
crament ;  and,  after  the  clergy  liad  left  the  Sanctua- 
ry, Miss  B — s,  the  Queen,  entered,  and  taking  her 
crown  from  her  head,  placed  it  upon  the  Altar. 

*'  I  have  given  you  this  description,  for  I  found  the 
ceremony  so  beautiful,  I  thought  you  would  be  inter- 
ested to  hear  of  it.  Miss  B —  is  a  lovely  person. 
She  expects  to  go  to  Europe  with  her  father  very 


soon. 


•   •    •   • 


"  CONGUEOATION    OF  NoTRE  DaMK, 

St.  Eustaciie,  June  7,  1857. 
"  My  Dear  Mother :  Yours  was  received  yesterday 
morning.  It  gave  me  much  pleasure  to  hear  that 
you  were  all  well.  I  hope  Helen  will  not  get  sick 
with  her  cold.  I  imagine  the  weather  in  Vermont 
has  been  something  like  ours  here.  In  fact  we  have 
had  but  one  or  two  warm  days,  and  at  present  it  is 
quite  cold.      If  warm  weather  does  not  come  faster 

than  this',  I  shall  not  feel  it  much I  suppose 

you  have  plenty  to  do,  as  usual.  I  imagine  1  see  you 
sometimes  in  the  garden.  St.  A —  has  a  fondness 
for  (lowers  equal  to  yours,  and  her  pupils  have  been 
bringing  any  quantities  to  her  all  the  Spring.  When 
she  has  a  moment's  time  she  is  sure  to  be  weeding, 
or  attending  to  her  plants  in  some  way.  You  have 
not  sent  me  any  word  about  your  garden.  I  am  not 
able  to  tell  you  yet  exactly  what  time  I  shall  be  home, 
for  the  day  of  our  examination  is  not  yet  fixed.  I  do 
not  think  the  warm  weather  will  affect  me  much — I 
am  so  well  now,  and  there  are  only  about  six  weeks 
before  the  close  of  school.  At  present  we  are  pre- 
paring for  our  examinations,  and  of  course  all  in  a 
hurry.  Tlic  young  ladies  here  are  prejiaring  two 
Dramas  to  be  actcil,  one  in  English  and  tlui  other  in 
French.  'V\\o-  former  I  have  tlie  care  of  exercising, 
of  course.     It  is  not  very  long,  and  they  learn  it  pret- 


tliat 


i>e  a,<^ 


'^y\ 


^Uq.  \\t 


'.:       ^^^^ 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


123 


fol- 

first 

her 

3  by 

•  the 
IBa- 
ctua- 
r  her 

cl  the 
inter- 
erson. 

•  very 

i 

tcrday 

ar  that 

Bt  sick 

ermont 

jQ  have 

it  it  is 
faster 

upposo 

see  you 

niJness 
e  been 
When 
ceding, 

Du  have 
am  not 
e  home, 
I.  do 
\uch— I 
c  weeks 
arc  pve- 
all  in  a 
\x\^  two 
other  in 
.vcisiutr, 
it  pret- 


ty well  for  chiklren  who  arc  only  studying  English. 
The  French  piece  is  very  beautiful.  When  the  pro- 
gramme is  made  out  I  will  send  you  one.  That 
will  be  before  long.  We  have  about  forty  children 
now — that  is,  ma  Tante  St.  A — 's  class — and  Sister 
L —  has  about  the  same  number.  The  Congregation 
has  two  hundred  and  four  professed  nuns,  and  they 
have  so  much  to  do  that  it  is  impossible  to  have  three 
on  this  mission.  The  novices  number  over  twenty, 
and  not  one-third  of  them  are  at  the  community — 
all  on  missions  :  and  those  wlio  are  making  their  first 
year's  noviciate,  numbering  over  thirty,  are  most  of 
them  in  the  suburbs  of  Montreal  teaching  the  poor. 
Sister  L —  scolds  a  good  deal  to  think  she  cannot  get 
another  to  assist  her ;  but  she  does  not  efl'ect  much 
by  it.  I  have  no  more  time  to  write.  Give  my  love 
to  father  and  the  children.     Your  true 

Debbie,  infant  de  Marie.'''' 

"  CoxaREGATION  DE  NOTRE  DaME, 

St.  Etjstaciie,  June  21st,  1857. 

"  My  Dear  Carrie  :  I  cannot  give  you  a  very  good 
reason  for  remaining  so  long  without  answering  your 
last  letter ;  one  thing  after  another  seemed  to  come 
in  the  way.  I  have  passed  a  few  days  in  Montreal, 
and  we  are  preparing  for  examination,which  of  course 
takes  up  the  time  and  attention  of  the  teachers.  I 
know  you  will  excuse  me  this  time  as  I  am  not  sub- 
ject to  the  fault  in  question. 

"  I  went  to  Montreal  to  be  present  at  the  corona- 
tion of  the  May  Queen  at  Maria  Villa.''      .... 

"  I  leave  Canada  once  more  next  month.  Would 
tliat  the  day  would  never  come,  but  hope  cheers  mo 
on.  I  go  with  a  sad  heart,  but  I  trust  all  will  yet 
1)0  as  I  desire. 

"  Helen  writes  often.  She  is  not  very  well,  but 
very  happy.  I  do  not  think  either  of  us  will  leave 
liomo  next  year.  I  find  pleasure  in  the  thought  that 
she  will  be  with  me  yet  awhile.  For  when  once  se[)ar- 
ated,  perhaps  it  will  be  our  final  parting  here 

"  As  for  myself,  1  had  rather  say  nutliiug  at  pres- 


124 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


1'     .  ■• 


cnt.  Not  that  I  am  afraid  to  confide  in  you,  but  I 
do  not  know  clearly  what  to  say.  I  have  had  trouble 
enough  lately  getting  my  parents  and  friends  quiet 
on  the  subject.  They  had  come  to  the  oonclusion 
that  my  intention  was  to  become  a  religious,  and  of 
course  considered  it  their  duty  to  prevent  me  if  pos- 
sible. 1  have  given  t.iem  a  little  ease,  but  I  fear  not 
much . 

"  But,  my  dear  Carrie,  why  try  to  lighten  the  cross 
which  our  Divine  Master  has  given  us  ?  Has  lie 
not  —  the  Innocent  One !  —  borne  it  before  us  ? 
When  I  embraced  the  Catholic  Faith  I  looked  for 
trials  and  I  have  had  but  very  few.  Could  I  ask 
them  to  be  less?  Can  I,  who  have  received  from 
God  so  many  gifts,  and  above  all  that  of  Faith,  deem 
these  things  hard  ?  Oh  my  friend  !  could  I  who  pro- 
fess to  be  one  of  His  followers,  one  of  those  who  love 
Him,  see  that  Divine  Saviour  drink  His  bitter  chalice 
alone  ?  Oh  no.  my  Jesus !  if  Thou  thinkest  mo 
worthy  to  suffer  something  for  Thy  Name's  sake,  I 
am  satisfied.  Only  give  me  strength  to  suffer  all 
with  patience  and  joy.  Oh  my  Carrie  !  what  a  re- 
ligion we  have  !  what  a  holy  consoling  thought  that 
we  are  not  separated  from  the  Catholic  Church. 
.  This  is  the  month  of  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus.  Do 
not  forget  me.  Make  some  acts  of  Reparation  for 
your  poor  Debbie,  who  has  so  much  need  of  them,  and 
I  will  not  forget  you  either.  The  Month  of  Mary 
passed  with  all  its  lovely  services,  and  I  trust  bles- 
sings have  been  laid  up  in  Heaven  for  us.  This  life 
is  very  short,  and  what  matters  it  if  Eternity  only  be 
gained.,  I  must  close  my  letter  here,  for  I  have 
much  to  do.  If  you  write  before  the  16th  of  next 
month  direct  to  St.  Eustache,  otherwise  to  Fairfield. 
St.  A — e  sends  love  and  would  write  if  she  had  time. 
Write  soon  and  pray  for  your  devoted  friend 


"  DebbiEj  Enfant  do  Marie 


11 


123 


DUt    I 

oublo 
quiet 
laslou 
nd  of 
if  pos- 
tal not 

c  cross 

[as  lie 

re    us  ? 

ked  for 

1  I  ask 

jd  from 

,h,  deem 

vho  pro- 

vlio  love 

c  chalice 

kest   me 

i  sake,  I 

luffer  all 

hat  a  re- 
ght  that 
Clmrcli. 

sus.     I>o 

ation  for 

icm,  and 

of  Mary 

rust  bles- 
riiis  life 
only  be 
I  have 
of  next 
Fairficltl. 
had  time. 

d 

Marie,'''' 


1 


n 


CIIArTER   YII. 


At  the  close  of  the  examinations  at  St.  Eustache, 
in  the  latter  part  of  July,  1857,  Debbie  went  with 
her  beloved  "  Tante"  to  Montreal,  where  they  met 
the  father  of  that  lady,  who  had  come  to  take  the 
young  sister  (mentioned  by  Debbie  in  her  letters,  as 
a  pupil  of  the  institution,  and  who  has  since  become 
a  member  of  that  holy  Order,)  home  for  the  vacation. 
He  urged  Debbie  with  such  cordial  politeness  to  ac- 
company his  daughter  and  himself  to  Quebec  for  a 
visit,  that  he  succeeded  in  overruling  the  hesitation 
she  felt  at  first,  lest  her  parents  might  be  unpleasant- 
ly disappointed  by  this  further  delay  of  her  return 
home.  She  therefore  wrote  to  them  explaining  the 
cause  of  that  delay,  and  accepted  the  invitation.  She 
felt  herself  bound  to  the  kindred  of  one  to  whom  she 
owed  so  much  as  a  Catholic,  by  far  stronger  ties  than 
those  of  ordinary  friendship.  Two  weeks  were  passed 
most  agreeably  in  the  pleasant  family  of  that  friend, 
during  which  she  received  every^  attention  from  its 
whole  circle  that  aifection  and  admiration  could 
prompt.  She  always  recurred  with  grateful  pleasure 
to  the  recollections  connected  with  that  visit,  and  the 
consideration  and  regard  with  which  she  was  treated 
by  all.  They,  on  their  part,  were  charmed  with  their 
lovely  guest,  and  have  ever  remembered  her  with  sen- 
timents of  affectionate  esteem,  bordering  upon  venera- 
tion, for  the  surpassing  loveliness  of  character,  person 
and  manners.  She  was  also  very  ranch  admired  in 
Quebec  beyond  that  family  circle,  as  well  as  in  other 
parts  of  Canada  where  she  was  seen,  and  had  not  her 


126 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


;i. 


>•  ■ 


irrevocable  choice  ns  to  her  future  state  of  life  boon 
made  known,  she  would  not  have  lacked  numerous 
opportunities  for  establishing  herself,  (in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,)  in  the  most  desirable  position. 

About  a  month  after  her  return  from  St.  Eustache 
we  received  another  visit  from  her  and  her  sister 
Helen,  whose  health  was  beginning  to  exhibit  symp- 
toms that  awakened  the  most  lively  apprehensions  in 
our  hearts,  as  well  as  in  that  of  her  sister,  on  her  ac- 
count. Indeed,  among  the  most  touching  of  our 
cherished  memories  of  the  sisters,  are  those  of  the  so- 
licitude, (more  maternal  than  sisterly,)  which  Debbie 
constantly  manifested  for  her  precious  Helen,  and  the 
loving  appreciation  with  which  it  was  received,  while 
the  acceptance  of  it  was  always  marked  by  some  mis- 
chievous drollery  or  merry  conceit  on  the  part  of  the 
recipient  that  was  all  her  own.  Their  natures,  dis- 
tinctly marked  by  opposite  attributes  and  wide  diver- 
sities of  temperament,  seemed  to  be  drawn  into  still 
closer  union  by  those  very  contrasts.  The  isolated 
position  in  which  they  stood,  bound  so  lovingly  to- 
gether by  the  golden  links  of  the  Catholic  faith,  made 
the  thought  of  their  possible  separation  by  death  even 
more  painful  to  their  Catholic  friends,  to  whom  they 
were  inexpressibly  dear,  than  to  themselves — so  well 
had  they  learned  at  that  early  period  of  life,  by  the 
aid  of  peculiar  trials,  the  difficult  lesson  of  perfect 
conformity  to  the  will  of  God,  which  is  rarely  ac- 
quired during  the  varied  experiences  of  a  long  life. 

We  had  but  just  entered  upon  the  enjoyment  of 
their  visit,  when  a  distressing  accident,  which  befell 
a  member  of  our  family  interrupted  the  pleasure,  and 
was  the  means  of  hastening  their  departure.  They 
left  us,  however,  with  the  promise  of  an  early  return 
to  finish  the  visit.  It  would  have  been  a  sorrowful 
parting  indeed  for  us,  if  we  had  known  that  the  prom- 
ise was  destined  never  to  be  fulfilled,  and  their  pres- 
ence together,  (in  consequence  of  changes  in  our 
domestic  arrangements,  which  brought  a  large  acces- 
sion to  the  numbers  of  our  household,  for  that  year,) 
was  never  again  to  enliven  our  solitudes. 


THE   YOUNfJ    CONVERTS. 


127 


lerous 
orldly 

staclic 
sister 
symp- 
ions  in 
her  ac- 
of   our 
the  so- 
Debbie 
and  the 
i,  while 
me  mis- 
t  of  the 
res,  dis- 
le  diver- 
nto  still 
isolated 
ngly  to- 
:h,  made 
itli  even 
om  they 
-so  well 
'.^  by  the 
perfect 
trely  ac- 
g  life, 
ment  of 
;h  befell 
lure,  and 
They 
y  return 
orrowful 
le  prom- 
leir  pres- 
s  in   our 
ge  acccs- 
at  year,) 


The  following  letter  was  written  from  our  ])laco 
during  that  visit  and  addressed  to  her  friend  L — ,  who 
had  come  from  Chicago  to  pass  a  few  weeks  in  Ver- 
mont. 

"  SwANTON,  Sept.  29x11,  1857. 

*'  My  own  dear  L — c  :  T  was  much  disappointed  at 
not  seeing  you  before  I  left  Burlington,  but  was 
obliged  to  say  to  myself,  '  I  shall  see  her  soon,'  and 
come  away  with  no  greater  consolation.  We  came 
directly  to  Mr.S 's  of  Swanton,  where  I  am  en- 
joying myself  finely.  I  often  think,  however,  of  you, 
and  feel  as  though  I  must  see  you  soon.  I  am  too 
much  interested  in  the  welfare  of  my  early  friend  to 
forget  each  day  to  offer  a  fervent  prayer  to  Heaven 
that  she  may  be  shielded  from  all  the  evils  of  this 
weary  world.  My  thoughts  often  revert  to  our  con- 
versation the  night  I  passed  with  you,  and  I  am  so 
fearful  that  your  heart  will  grow  cold  and  indifferent 
to  every  joy  sinco  some  have  proved  so  fleeting.  May 
I  speak  just  as  I  wish  to  ?  I  know  you  will  not  feel 
angry.  Let  me  tell  my  L —  that  she  will  find  noth- 
ing in  this  world's  joys  to  fill  the  heart.  I  know  too 
well  how  short-lived  are  those  things.  I  have  known 
by  experience.  And  I  feel  for  you  so  much,  my 
darling  friend,  that  I  can  but  speak.  Perhaps  you 
will  think  me  foolish,  but  if  you  knew  for  one  hour 
the  happiness  which  one  feels  who  trusts  in  God 
alone,  you  would  see  Debbie  in  a  different  light.  I 
long  so  often  to  clasp  you  to  my  heart  and  make  you 
partake  of  my  heart's  feelings 

"  The  trials  which  are  sent  us  here  are  for  our  sanc- 
tification.  We  can  improve  them  so  well  also. 
What  a  blessing  they  have  been  to  me  no  one  knows, 
and  you  can  make  them  so  to  yourself.  I  am  looking 
for  your  visit  to  Fairfield  with  the  brightest  expec- 
tations. You  must  come,  will  you  not  ?  And  then 
how  long  will  we  speak  of  days  gone  by,  of  the  pres- 
ent, and  even  of  the  future.  It  must  not  seem  like  a 
blank  to  you  or  me.  We  have  our  missions  to  perform. 
Our  patlis  differ  as  yet,  would  to  God  they  might  one 
day  be  alike. 


^.  . 


m 


128 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


ft  f  I; 


"  Faiufield  Wkdnesdav.  I  have  just  arrivod 
home  and  your  letter  just  received.  I  kuew  you  liad 
good  reasons  for  not  comin;:^  and  I  did  not  feel  hurt, 
but  I  longed  for  your  face  once  more.  I  am  hoping, 
however,  that  you  will  visit  me  soon.  Though  I  can 
not  expect  you  immediately,  I  may  before  your  re- 
turn to  Chicago.  1  intended  to  have  my  likeness 
taken  for  you  before  I  left  Burlington  but  had  not 
the  time.  The  next  time  1  am  in  »St.  Albans  1  will 
do  so,  and  you  must  send  mo  yours  very  soon 

"  I  will  pray  for  you  often,  and  I  know  some  re- 
quests must  be  granted.  And  now  L —  dear,  good 
night!  Pleasant  dreams  and  a  light  heart  to  thee, 
ami  believe  me  thy  most  devoted  friend, 

"I3E1UUE,  Child  of  Maryy 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter,  written  by 
Debbie,  to  a  young  friend  from  the  southern  part  of 
the  State  (then  attending  school  in  Burlington), 
whose  recent  conversion  had  fdled  the  hearts  of  Cath- 
olics with  joy,  will,  I  am  sure,  be  interesting  to  our 
readers : 

"Fairfield,  Oct.  17,  1857 — Sunday  Evening. 

"  My  Dear  Miss — My  Sister  Helen  has  teased  me 
to-night  until  I  have  promised  to  write  to  you  before 
I  go  to  sleep.  I  had  intended  to  do  so  myself,  hut 
not  being  very  well  had  given  it  up.  Although  our 
acquaintance  has  been  so  very  short,  still  the  interest 
is  as  great,  which  we  feel  for  you  and  your  sister,  as 
though  we  had  been  friends  for  years.  And  why 
should  it  not  be  so  ?  Called  as  we  have  been,  so 
similarly  to  the  Catholic  faith,  alone  as  we  are,  the 
oldest  of  our  families — we  can  not  but  feel  drawn  to 
sympathize  with  one  another.  I  have  long  desired  to 
meet  and  know  both  yourself  and  your  estimable  sis- 
ter whom  I  have  heard  spoken  of  so  frequently.  I 
have  learned  to  look  to  my  Catholic  friends  for  pleas- 
ure, and  may  1  not  number  you  among  them  ?  .... 
The  heart  yearns  oftentimes  for  some  one  with  whom 
something  else  can  be  spoken  of  beside  the  vanities 
of  this  world.  To-day  I  heard  a  sermon  which  made 
me   think   of  you  as   well   as  myself,     It  was   on 


i^Si 


THE   YOUN(i   CONVEUTS. 


121> 


?) 


i^en,  so 
re,  tlie 
iiwn  to 
ired  to 
-lie  sis- 

ly-  I 

plcas- 
•  •  •  • 

whom 
anities 
maiie 
^as   on 


'  TlianlcsiriviiiLT  for  tlio  CJift  of  Faith.''  Truly  we  are 
among  tlie  number  wlio  liavo  reason  to  be  thankful  to 
Almighty  (;!o(l !  ....  We  can  not  speak  half  we 
feel !  Of  our  heart's  sentiments  we  have  to  keep 
the  greater  share  to  ourselves ;  for  can  we  speak  when 
the  soul  is  moat  absorbed  in  the  one  great  theme — Je- 
ms our  Beloved  ?  Still  we  can  help  each  other  in  our 
bearing  of  His  Cross,  and  the  encouraging  word  of  a 
friend  in  the  trials  of  this  life  are  like  balm  upon  the 
wou]uled  spirit.  Tlie  hand  of  Charity,  given  to  assist 
ns  in  our  journey  through  this  vale  of  tears,  is  ever 
welcome.  Then  we  will  be  friends — will  we  not  ? 
Let  our  prayers  be  united  for  the  conversion  of  those 
near  and  dear  to  us,  and  for  owr  perseverance.  Give 
my  love  to  your  sister ;  send  my  letter  to  her  if  you 
choose.     I  should  be  most  happy  to  hear  from  her  if 

she  will  favor  me  so  much.     Helen  sends  love 

She  will  write  when  she  is  able.  Let  us  hear  from 
you  very  soon.  We  should  be  so  delighted !  Re- 
member ns  in  your  fervent  prayers 

"  Fairfield,  Oct,  25Tir,  1857. 
"  My  Dear  Carrie  :  Your  letter  was  received  some 
days  since  ;  I  must  say  I  had  given  up  all  hopes  of 
hearing  from  you  again,  and  I  think  now  I  must 
thank  our  friend  C — s  for  the  favor.  I  am  very  much 
obliged  at  any  rate,  and  of  course  ready  to  reply,  for 
should  '  Auld  Lang  Syne'  be  forgotten  ?  No,  all 
must  live  in  the  memory  though  time  and  distance 
may  separate  forever  those  who  have  been  true  friends. 
How  short  was  our  acquaintance  !  and  yet  how  strong 

and  lasting?  the  tie  which  binds  us Oh  Car- 

rie  dear  !  you  would  find  that  four  years  have  wrought 
a  great  change  upon  Debbie.  I  am  sure  yon  would 
find  me  much  the  same  in  regard  to  some  things,  but 
how  different  in  others.  I  would  fain  tell  you  all, 
that  you  might  know  what  I  have  experienced,  but 
why  trouble  another  with  those  things  ?  I  am  as 
happy  now  as  I  can  be,  until  some  future  day  when 
all  shall  be  given  to  God  which  this  heart  can  give. 
I  have,  since  I  saw  you  Carrie,  seen  changes  enough 
to  make  me  look  somewhere  besides  this  world  for 


M- 

su 

\.k 

-..  ..i^l 


130 


THE   YOIJNC;    CONVERTS. 


m  ' 


consolation,  and  have  found  It Timo  passod 

and  1  liad  renounced  tho-fVicndslii|)  of  tlic  world,  ub. 
jnrcd  Protestantism,  and  entered  tlie  boHoni  of  tiio 
Catholic  Church.  From  that  moment  to  know  (iod'H 
will  with  rcp^ard  to  my  vocation  became  the  subject 
of  prayer  with  me.  I  waited  patiently.  Need  1  tell 
you,  Carrie  that  my  decision  is  fixed  for  the  reli<iinii8 
life.  Yes  !  it  is  so,  and  this  has  not  been  done  in 
haste.  I  know  well  now  where  our  Divine  Master 
calls  me,  and  rejoicinp^  to  suffer  yet  more  for  His  sake, 
1  am  submissive  to  His  will 

"And  now  Carrie,  let  me  speak  of  those  who  were 
near  and  dear  to  me.  Many  have  left  me,  for  the 
change  in  my  religious  principles  has  estranged  them. 

Some  have  learned  to  forget Of  this  I  am 

glad  to  know,  for  I  now  sec  the  Hand  of  Providence 
in  all,  and  would  not  for  worlds  have  it  otherwise. 
8ince  my  profession  of  our  holy  religion  I  have  found 
my  happiness  consisted  not  in  the  possession  of  any 
one's  affections,  and  now  I  see  that  Jesus  alone  can  sat- 
isfy my  souk  If  you  knew  how  I  long  to  fly  from  this 
world's  pleasures  and  consecrate  myself  to  the  service 
of  God !  But  I  must  wait.  Two  years,  at  least,  I 
am  still  to  be  here My  sisters  desire  to  be- 
come Catholics  and  T  must  wait  awhile  to  see  them 
settled.  Anna  is  sixteen  and  when  she  it?  a  little 
older  will  take  the  all-important  step.      .... 

"  I  heard  with  joy  of  your  intention  to  visit  Keese- 
ville  this  winter,  and  you  mr.st  come  and  see-me.    . . 

"  I  hear  from  St.  A —  qiiiio  f  equently.  I  enjoyed 
myself  so  much  with  her  laF*^^  ^  car,  and  most  probably 
it  is  the  last  I  shall  ever  spend  with  her."     .... 

"Fairfield,  Nov.  IOtii  1857. 

"  My  own  dear  L — e :  I  had  waited  long  for  a 
word  from  you  when  your  welcome  letter  arrived.  T 
am  sorry  you  have  been  attacked  with  such  a  cold. 
We  all  know  how  to  sympathize  with  you  for  every 
one  of  us  have  "had  a  siege,  but  are  all  dt)ing  well 
now,  except  Helen,  who  does  not  seem  to  improve 
any,  and  as  far  as  I  can  judge  is  failing.  Her  cough 
seems  worse  and  her  stomach  is  no  Letter,  which  is 


THE    yOUNU    CONVERTS. 


131 


issod 
I,  ab. 
f  tl.o 
(lod's 

ll)J0Ct 

I  toll 

no  in 
lastcr 
}  sake, 

D  were 
Dr  the 

them. 

I  am 

idcncc 
Bivvise. 
1  found 
of  any 
;an  Kat- 
mi  this 
service 
least,  1 
to  be- 
e  them 
little 

iKeese- 
ne.  . . 
fcvijoyed 
[•obably 

.857. 
for   a 

'Cd.      1 
la  cold, 
every 
[vr  well 
Improve 
congh 
diich  is 


luifavorablo.  However  lur  spirits  are  always  fj;ood, 
and  I  think  she  looks  upon  lior  situation  as  a  diin- 
^erons  one,  still  is  always  nay.  I  am  more  troubled 
I  fear  than  she  is,  and  this  shows  my  attachment  to 
earth.  1  am  too  loud  <'f  it  yet  though  it  has  lost 
many  of  its  charms  for  me 

*'  llelen  is  the  li«rlit  of  my  life  now,  I  do  not  know 
liow  I  could  roniiiiu  here  withoutrhor.  She  is  cheer- 
fuhicss  itself  and  says  to  me  sometimes,  '  Debbie  I 
shall  roach  hnmi'  lirst,  dont  vou  see  I  am  hiirothed  to 
DeathT  and  sho  seems  joyous  at  the  thou<,dit.  Oh 
what  a  sacrifice  it   is  to  me  to  see  her  sinkin<r  and 

vhink   there  is   no    help  for   her But    why 

speak  of  this  loi.^  -?  T  must  be  cheerful  or  T  shall 
make  others  sad,  and  this  should  not  be.  In  fact  I 
do  not  think  I  am  sad,  for  I  have  too  many  thin<^s  to 
be  thankfnl  for ;  ]  need  not  enumerate  them  here. 
Would  to  (jlod  1  mif,dit  see  the  mercy  of  His  Hand  in 
scndinpj  me  those  tjifts,  and  then  I  should  see  as  I 
ought,  how  kind  He  is  to  send  afUictions  also.  Heav- 
en can  not  be  gained  by  a  life  of  ease  here  below. 
Our  Divine  Lord  leads  His  children  by  a  different 
path,  even  the  one  He  tried  Himself,  and  truly  it  was 
one  of  suffering.  He  has  made  the  cross  light,  hu- 
miliations joyous,  contemj)t  an  honor,  and  finally  He 
has  made  all  trials  so  sweet  when  united  with  His 
sniferinrjs  that  sometimes  I  think  I  would  not  for 
world's  exchange  them  for  ease  and  comfort.  There 
is  a  sacrcdness  in  sorrow,  there  is  a  deliciousness  in 
tears,  oh !  who  shall  rob  us  of  them  when  they  gain 
for  us,  (through  the  merits  of  the  Precious  Blood  of 
Jesus,)  bright  gems  for  a  heavenly  crown  ? 

"  I  am  sure  you  think  me  very  grave  to-night,  but 
what  my  heart  feels  I  must  write.  I  know  you  will 
not  imagine  I  mean  to  intrude,  but  if  you  only  knew 
L — ,  the  consolations  of  Faith  you  would  not  be  sur- 
prised. I  do  not  say  too  much  of  our  Holy  lieligion. 
I  cannot.  Too  much  can  never  be  said.  Saints  have 
made  it  their  theme  for  ages,  and  yet  all  has  not 
been  said.  But  search  for  the  IVuih.,  and  you  will 
f\\\CL  it."      .... 


1.- ,  *  ■  C'F 


132 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


t 


*   r 

.;,   If 


Mil  '■■[■ 


81ic  v/'  Hos  again  to  her  yonng  friend  in  Bmllng- 
ton : 

"  Faireield,  Nov.  13,  1857. 
"  My  very  dear  Friend  :  I  need  not  assure  you  that 
your  reply  to  my  letter  received  a  most  hearty  wel- 
come, from  both  my  sister  and  myself ;  firstly,  from 
the  fact  of  oiir  regard  for  the  writer  ;  and  secondly, 
the  very  pleasing  n«ws  v/hich  the  letter  contained — 
that  of  your  sister's  baptism.  Yes  !  I  can  rejoice  with 
you  over  the  entrance  of  a  soul  so  dear  to  you  into 

the  fold  of  Jesus  Christ I  have  joined  with 

you  all  in  thanksgiving  for  the  gift  of  Faith,  which 
has  been  bestowed  upon  her  while  yet  so  young. 
You  may  well  say,  it  would  be  a  happy  thing  could 
she  die  before  sin  had  sullied  her  baptismal  robe  ! 
And  yet,  if  so  it  could  be,  no  occasion  would  she  have 

had  to  prove  her  love  for  our  dearest  Lord 

Life  is  not  so  dark  as  we  often  feel  it  is,  if  we  only 
spent  it  in  working  for  Him  who  has  done  so  much 
for  us  !  True  there  is  always  m  in  this  poor  world, 
and  this  almost  tempts  me  to  wish  I  had  died  in  some 
happy  hour  when  my  soul  was  in  a  state  of  grace ; 
but  then  the  thought  comes  to  me,  I  must  not  be  la- 
zy. Jesus  desires  us  to  work  a  while  here,  and, 
though  poor  laborers,  we  surely  can  not  refuse  the 
little  we  can  do.  However  1  think  He  favors  those 
whom  He  calls  to  an  early  home.  They  seem  to  be 
pure  souls,  whom  He  can  not  bear  to  see  remaining 
here  to  suffer.  But  to  return  to  your  sister  J. ;  give 
my  love  to  her,  and  tell  her  that  I  shall  expect  a  share 

in  her  prayers I,  too,  my  dear  friend,  have 

Been  a  beloved  sister  received  into  our  Holy  Church. 
It  was  one  of  the  happiest  days  of  my  life,  and  the 
hour  when  I  saw  her  renounce  the  world  and  its  vain 
joys,  I  could  not  but  recall  the  same  time  in  my  own 

life,   and   live   it  over   again Time   passes 

away  and  I  am  little  aware  that  nearly  two  years 
have  elapsed  since  I  made  my  profession  of  the  Cath- 
olic Faith  !  I  am  still  finding  new  beauties,  and  so 
I  suppose  we  always  shall.  In  thanksgiving  for  the 
groat  blessings  we  have  received,  what  could  we  do 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


133 


we  ( 


\o 


toonincli?  I  am  writing  while  Helen  sleops,  Slie 
has  not  been  as  well  for  the  past  few  weeks.  I  ara 
somewhat  discoiiraged  about  her.  Her  cough  is 
very  troublesome,  and  many  of  her  symptoms  are 
worse.  Her  spirits  are  always  gay.  Bhe  sends  love 
to  you  and  your  sister  also." 

"  Fairfield,  Dec.  6th,  1857. 
"  My  own  dear  Carrie  :  A  few  lines  to  you  to-day 
in  reply  to  your  kind  letter  which  gave  me  so  much 
pleasure.  I  have  attended  Mass  and  have  just  re- 
turned.^ I  suppose  you  have  also  been  present  at  the 
Adorable  Sacrifice,  and  perhaps  have  received  your 
Divine  Lord  this  morning.  I  have  not  had  that  hap- 
piness myself,  ard  I  trust  I  have  been  remembered 
by  some  one  wuo  has  been  so  closely  united  to  our 
sweet  Saviou^  on  this  day.  Last  Monday  was  the 
anniversary  of  my  baptism,  and  I  had  prepared,  or 
tried  to  prepare  my  soul  to  celebrate  that  joyous 
feast.  How  swiftly  two  years  have  passed  away  !  I 
can  scarcely  realize  it.  Time  does  his  work  so  quick- 
ly. I  need  not  say  that  my  happiness  seems  com- 
plete ;  when  I  think  of  the  long  time  I  waited  ere  I 
was  admitted  into  the  Fold  of  .lesus  Christ,  and  real- 
ize the  delights  which  are  experienced  in  frequent 
recourse  to  the  holy  Sacraments,  I  look  back  upon 
my  past  life  as  almost  a  blank.  It  is  truly  a  consola- 
tion to  look  at  the  state  from  which  God  in  His  infi- 
nite mercy  has  called  me,  nnd  meditating  upon  His 
love,  try  to  return  Him  th-mks  for  His  manifold  ben- 

vixLOa  •    •    •    • 

"  And  now  Carrie,  hew  are  you  going  to  pasa 
Christmas?  Have  you  made  any  arrangement  for 
the  holidays  ?  We  do  not  in  Fairfield,  (any  one  but 
Helen  and  I,)  think  much  of  this  great  Festival,  and 
we  ha^  '  )  make  our  own  plans  for  celebrating  this, 
and  other  festivals,  without  reference  to  others. 
Alas  !  for  the  days  of  last  year  ! 

"You  had  heard  of  the  death  of  dear  Kfi'o  Tnom- 
isscTi.  So  unexpected  !  She  was  one  of  ny  warmest 
friends,  and  I  regret  much  that  death  hai  robbed  us 
so  soon.     Have  you  seen  a  notice  of  her  f^eaih  in  any 


■W, 


^  t 

.V 


134 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


•  » 


of  the  papers  ?  There  was  an  ohitiiary  in  the  Tablet, 
and  in  the  St.  Louis  Leader.  1  have  not  seen  the 
Pilot,  so  do  not  know  whether  there  was  one  in  that 
or  not.  She  will  be  remembered  by  many.  Do  you 
ever  see  any  of  our  convent  friends  ?  They  are  scat- 
tered far  and  wide  !     .... 

"  Home — Friday  Evening. 

"  My  own  dear  L — e  :  I  could  not  retire  to-night 
without  writing  you  a  few  lines  in  reply  to  your  kind 
letter,  I  am  happy  to  hear  you  intend  to  visit  Fair- 
field soon,  and  I  will  most  assuredly  meet  you  in  St. 
Albans,  if  it  is  in  my  power,  if  not  I  will  send  for 
you.  I  think  of  spending  Christmas  in  St.  Albans 
and  I  wish  you  could  come  the  next  day  vidiich  will  be 

the  26th  of  this  month I  am  delighted  to  think 

you  are  coming  and  then  L — ,  I  trust  I  shall  have  it 
in  my  power  to  convince  you  that  I  feel  a  deeper  in- 
terest in  you  than  ever,  and  that  my  love  is  as  sincere, 

my  friendship  as  truthful  as  before You  will 

fine  that  *  Debbie'  is  still  the  same. 

"  I  must  say  good  night.  To-morrow  morning  I 
must  be  up  early  to  attend  Church,  and  Sunday  is 
my  day  for  Holy  Communion.  I  will  not  forget  you, 
my  own  L — ,  when  I  kneel  to  receive  that  Heavenly 
Food,  and  my  prayers  shall  arise  to  the  Throne  of 
the  Most  High  for  your  welfare.  Would  you  wish 
to  be  remembered  there  ?"     .... 

{To  the  same.) 

"  Madrid,  N.  Y.,  February  11,  1858. 

'•My  own  dear  L — e  :    I  am  not  inclined  to  wait 

one  day  before  answering  your  letter  just  received. 

I  am  at  Madrid  still,  you  perceive,  and  am  enjoying 

myself  better  than  could  be  expected.      I  find  my 

friends  very  cordial  and  kind Helen  is  much 

the  same.  My  uncle  and  his  partner  have  examined 
her  lungs,  and  say  there  is  but  very  little,  if  any  hope 
of  her  ever  being  any  better.  She  will  probably  lin- 
ger until  another  fall ;  but  it  is  beyond  all  reason  to 
suppose  she  can  recover I  never  saw^a  per- 
son more  resigned  to  death.     If  Cod  so  wills,  she  is 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


135 


58. 
)  wait 

ived. 

ying 

L  my 
much 
nil!  oil 

hope 

y  lin- 
011  to 
pcr- 
iic  is 


happier  to  die  than  live.  If  it  was  His  will  she 
should  recover,  it  is  lier's  also. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  long  we  may  stay.  It  is  un- 
certain. I  am  going  with  my  undo  to-night  to  a 
wedding.     You  will  think  I  am  getting  gay  again  : 

but  not  too  much  so I  am  more  and  more 

fatigued  with  the  pleasures  of  this  world.  They  grat- 
ify me  not  for  one  hour.  Such  conversation — so  friv- 
olous, so  vain  !  so  little  of  true  worth  can  be  derived 
from  it.  I  am  tired,  heartily  so,  of  parties,  visits, 
calls,  formalities,  &c.  To  absent  myself  from  such, 
and  find  true  happiness  in  working  for  a  nobler  end 
than  I  have  heretofore,  is  my  highest  ambition.  I  find 
more  contentment  in  the  quiet  of  ray  own  room,  away 
from  the  distractions  of  the  world,  than  amid  its 
pay  est  scenes.  One  hour  alone,  in  meditation  upon 
a  J  vanity  of  all  things  temporal,  and  the  reality  of 
those  which  are  eternal,  is  worth  more  to  my  soul — 
adds  more  to  my  eujoymant,  than  a  thousand  spent  in 
seeking  the  false  pleasuTCs  of  this  life. 

*'  Let  us  consider  thc^se  things,  my  friend  ;  let  us 
remember  that  our  souls  are  immortal ;  we  liave  but 
one  life  to  live,  and  then  comes  eternity.  We  know 
not  the  hour  when  it  shall  burst  upon  us  in  its  awful 
reality.  Then  let  us  take  active  steps  to  prepare  for 
that  time.  We  cannot  count  upon  to-morrow  as  ours. 
If  we  wo^e  dying  now,  what  would  we  wish  to  have 
done  do;  ii'g  life  ?  Let  us  do  now  what  we  shall  wish 
we  hr.  i  do;  e,  when  we  come  to  leave  this  earth  to 
app(  ir  bntcre  God.  .... 

"  We  ::ve  thinking  of  going  to  St.  Albans  in  the 
Sriing.     i  -'.iiy  have  told  you  this  before."     .... 

Helen's  health  continued  to  decline  during  the  win- 
ter, though  so  gradually  as  hardly  to  be  perceptible 
from  week  to  week.  In  the  early  part  of  that  winter, 
their  friends  had  decided  upon  their  accompanying 
Some  acquaintances  who  were  expecting  to  pass  that 
sea^"  n  in  Florida,  and  every  preparation  and  arrange- 
mo';t  ','^as  made  for  their  departure.  Subsequent  and 
unfori  on  occurrences  compelled  those  acquaintances 
to  relinquish  the  plan,  and  they  also  gave  it  up,  much 


''»-"^ 


:'  *?;  '^ 


fl 


8>i 


n 


136 


THE   YOUNG  CONVERTS. 


to  Helen's  relief,  for  slio  had  regarded  it  with  reluc- 
tance from  the  first.  She  seemed  to  feel  quite  sure 
that  the  disease  which  was  upon  her  had  already  ad- 
vanced too  far  to  be  arrested  by  any  change  of  clim- 
ate, and  that  she  should  be  subjected  to  much  fatigue 
and  many  discomforts,  without  realizing  any  perma- 
nent benefit,  which  was,  perhaps,  a  just  view  of  the 
matter.  Our  poor  Debbie  felt  keenly  the  pangs  of 
their  approaching  separation.  She  wrote  but  little 
during  the  winter — an  occasional  short  note  to  her 
friend  at  St.  Eustache,  or  to  some  other  friend,  inform- 
ing them  of  Helen's  condition,  from  time  to  time. — 
In  March,  1858,  she  writes  to  the  former  from  Fair- 
field : 

"  My  heart  w  j'  ^'in  fly  away  from  here,  and  be 
with  those  who  seo  ,  as  it  were  kindred  spirits.  I 
am  ill  at  ease  with  those  who  understand  me  not.  But, 
hush  !  I  must  not  conplain.  I  should  not  raise  this 
voice  against  what  seems  to  be  the  will  of  my  Divine 
Saviour  !  and  I  did  not  intend  to — Heaven  forbid !  I 
only  speak  from  the  fullness  of  my  heart,  knowing  to 
whom  I  am  addressing  myself.  You  know,'  Out  of 
the  abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh  ;'  and 

so  I  write  to  ma  Tante  S .     You  compliment  me 

in  your  last  letter ;  shall  I  tell  you  how  ?  You  say  yon 
'  feel  certain  that  God  loves  me ;'  so  do  I !  My  crosses, 
though  small,  are  sufficient  to  prove  to  me  that  my 
Heavenly  Father  remembers  me.  The  '  back  is  fitted 
for  its  burthen,'  you  know  and  I  am  certain  I  shall 
have  none  too  much.  Since  I  have  chosen  Jesus  for  my 
guide,  my  love  and  my  model,  I  cannot  shrink  from 
the  cross  which  Jle  presents — from  the  path  He  has 
trod  Himself ;  besides,  is  there  so  consoling  a  thought 
as  that  God  "  loveth  whom  He  chasteneth  ?"  This 
is  my  consolation  and  it  is  sufficient.  I  have  been  to 
St  Albans  and  seen  our  good  Bishop  —  had  a  pleas- 
ant conversation  with  him  which  cheered  me  very 
much.  His  cheerfulness,  his  smile  of  approbation, 
and  his  blessings,  are  enough  to  encourage  any  one. 
Saw  Sister  C  — ,  also,  while  at  St.  Albans — felt  like  a 
child.   The  past  came  up,  and  in  one  moment  I  lived  it 


MR! 


'  I 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


137 


[like  a 
ved  it 


all  over  again  !  1  saw  at  a  glance  the  enjoyments  of 
the  few  months  I  had  spent  at  the  convent ;  I  felt 
that  I  would  give  worlds  to  lose  sight  forever  of  the 
weary  scenes  of  life,  and,  leaving  all,  be  consecrated  to 
the  only  Object  worthy  of  love  1  These  thoughts  fill- 
ing my  mind,  and  the  warm  welcome — the  words  of 
sympathy — which  she  gave  me,  were  too  much  !  I 
went  from  the  house,  and  entering  the  church,  wept 
until  my  heart  was  relieved  in  the  presence  of  the 
Blessed  Sacrament !  It  was  Thursday  evening,  and 
some  preparations  were  making  for  Benediction. 
The  "  Tmitum  Ergo^,  came  over  me  with  its  usual  calm 
influence,  and  soon  my  soul  was  soothed  to  j^eaceful- 
ness  !  I  no  more  looked  upon  the  darkness  and  afflic- 
tion of  my  present  hours ;  but,  forgetting  all  I  could 
look  to  Heaven  and  return  thanks  for  the  blessings 
received — the  great  gift  of  Faith  !  for  which  we  6au 
never  be  thankful  enough.  As  the  '•'  Compar  sit 
Laudatio'''  died  away,  and  the  silence  rendered  the 
scene  more  impressive  still,  I  felt  the  load  removed, 
and  after  the  Benediction  was  given,  all  was  over ! 
The  tears  fell  fast,  but  they  were  tears  of  joy  rather 
than  sorrow.  Was  it  not  enough  to  make  me  feel 
submission  to  the  Divine  will  !  to  make  me  come  and 
and  accept  cheerfully  the  crosses  and  trials  of  this 
life  ?  Ah,  yes  !  one  hour  in  the  presence  of  Him  we 
love — one  Benediction,  is  sufficient  to  pay  us  for  all 
our  sufferings  !  Oh  !  ma  Taute,  I  could  speak  of  these 
things  forever — conld  you  not  ?  The  love  of  Jesus  for 
man  ! — Is  it  not  a  tale  often  told,  but  never  tiresome  ! 
filways  new,  and  each  time  more  beautiful  ! 

(To  the  same  :)  "  Fairfield,  April,  1858.  .... 
Passed  Holy  Week  with  Helen,  at  8t.  Albans,  at  Mr. 
Hoyt's  :  enjoyed  it  very  much,  though  Helen  .was  aide 
to  go  out  but  very  little.  She  went  to  Mass  on  Holy 
Thursday,  but  not  until  after  the  Credo  was  sung, 
when  Mr.  Hoyt  went  and  brought  her  over  to  the 
church.  She  received  Holy  Communion  on  Easter 
Sunday.  I  went  with  her  about  half-past  7  o'clock 
in  the  morning ;  in  fact  she  was  hardly  able,  but  would 


go,   and  said,  in  so 


doing 


(( 


It 


IS 


my 


last  Easter 


•y|;.*A-: 


•  •■■■  w: 


j,       :',  A'  •      ■'    !jfj[ 


138 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


';  SB- 


i 


Communion,  and  prchaps,  Debbie,  the  lad  time  «.v 
sliall  yo  togetJier  /"  Dear  sister  is  fast  going  home^  and 
she  is  80  lovely  ! — every  one  speaks  of  it.  She  is  the 
very  same  Helen  as  far  as  gayety  is  concerned,  and 
so  happy,  so  peaceful,  so  perfectly  resigned  to  the 
will  of  God  !  It  has  always  been  her  favorite  virtue, 
resignation ;  she  says,  whatever  she  may  have  done, 
she  has  always  endeavored,  to  say  under  all  circum- 
stances,' God's  will  be  done  !'  and  truly  she  is  not  less 
ready  now  than  ever  to  repeat  it She  is  fad- 
ing gradually  away,  like  some  beautiful  flower.  From 
day  to  day  I  watch  the  change,  and  think  '  truly  she 
18  too  good  for  earth.'  She  suffers  more- than  many  in 
consumption,  but  is  always  patient."  ....  I  will 
now  give  extracts  from  some  letters  to  her  young 
friend  at  Burlington,  who  has  been  introduced  in  the 
preceding  puges. 

"  Fairfield,  April  11,  '58.  My  dear  friend  — :  . . 
was  very  tliVjkful  for  your  kindness  in  writing ;  and 
hope  to  heui  from  you  still  oftener.  Your  letter 
brought  welcome  news.  I  want  to  know  how  you  man- 
age to  gain  your  father's  good  will  as  you  do.  It  seems 
so  singular  that  he  should  allow  your  sisters  to  be  bap- 
tized. I  do  not  understand  it.  But  our  Divine  Lord 
sees  fit  so  to  have  it ;  and  I  cannot  complain  if  He 
deals  another  wa}'^  .vith  us.  I  congratulate  you,  and 
your  good  sisters,  and  begin  to  think  your  prayers  are 
more  fervent  than  mine,  and  tha£  I  shall  enjoy  some 
of  those  blessed  privileges  when  I  am  better  myself. 

....     Our  dear  Helen  is  failing Truly  she 

will  gain  in  leaving  this  poor  world  !  I  can  hardly 
imagine  she  is  to  go  so  soon,  but  I  must  give  her  up. 
She  has  been  my  companion  in  joy  and  in  sorrow.  She 
has  stood  by  me  through  the  varied  scenes  of  the  past 
few  years,  and  it  is  hard  to  think  I  must  be  separated 
from  her,but  God's  will  be  done.  He  knows  what  is  best 
and  I  cannot  murmur.  It  will  be  but  a  few  short  days, 
and  I  trust  we  shall  be  united  where  partings  are  nev- 
er known  !  My  heart  was  sad  this  morning.  I  went  to 
receive  the  Bread  of  Life,  and  she  was  not  with  me. 
Last  Sunday  we  both  went,  and  she  remarked,  '  this 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


139 


is  proliaMy  tho  last  timo  we  shall  pfo  togctlior."  Slio 

Kui  J,  she  Iclt  sensible  that  she  was  failing 8ho 

is  happy,  and  T  trust  we  shall  be  resigned.     I  will  re- 
member you  in  my  prayers,  and  the  church  inO , 

and  in  return  you  must  pray  for  us  here."      .... 

"  Fairfeld,  April  24, 1858. — My  own  dearL — e  : 
Yours  has  been  received,  and  I  hasten  to  reply.  How 
shall  I  begin,  and  what  shall  I  say  ?  God  knows  my 
intention  is  good,  and  that  I  desire  nothing  but  your 
M'elfare.  Then  I  will  begin,  and  if  anything  escapes 
my  pen  which  should  not,  pardon  and  forget. 

"  I  rejoice  that  you  have  concluded  to  live  for  Him 
who  constitutes  the  true  happiness  of  His  creatures. 
I  am  rejoiced  that  you,  too,  my  friend,  have  found 
that  this  world,  its  pleasures  and  allurements,  can 
never  satisfy  our  hearts.  You  too  have  concluded 
that  God  alone  can  render  a  soul  truly  happy.  So  it 
is.  God  alone  should  be  our  motto.  And  now  that 
you  have  become  convinced  that  religion  is  necessa- 
ry for  us  here  and  hereafter,  seek  to  know  the  will  of 
Him  Who  has  already  given  you  some  light — Who 
has  already  turned  His  face  to  look  upon  your  soul. 
Pray  for  guidance  into  the  true  path,  ray  dear  friend, 
with  the  firm  intention  of  following  where  Jesus  shall 
lead,  and  you  will  not,  I  trust,  go  astray.  Our  Di- 
vine Saviour  wishes  us  to  appear  before  the  world 

aa  His  followers I  do  not  wish  to  say  too 

much,  but  you  know,  L — ,  my  interest  in  you,  and  I 
cannot  help  asking  you  to  seek  with  diligent  prayer, 
the  way  which  Jesus  Christ  has  ordained  for  His  faith- 
ful children,  and  for  all,  if  they  would  but  see.  I  do 
not  wish  you  to  think  I  am  going  to  sermonize; 
but  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to  be  silent  on  such  a 
topic. 

'*  Sunday  afternoon. — My  dear  L —  :  I  have  just  re- 
turned from  Church,  where  I  have  had  the  happiness 
of  approaching  the  most  holy  Sacrament  of  the  Body 
and  Blood,  soul  and  Divinity,  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  Can  a  heart  that  has  never  approached  this 
holy  Table  know  what  joy,  what  inward  peace  reigns 
in  the  soul,  at  this  union  with  her  Heavenly  Spouse  ? 


■■•V'    « 


1.:  *>■■    •    * 


140 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


■  A- (J 
1  t-^v' 


Can  I  make  yon  understand,  my  own  tlear  friend,  tlie 
delights  of  that  Bancjuet  at  which  tlie  Angels  are  for- 
bidden to  feast  y  ....  I  can  only  assure  you  that 
earth  has  no  happiness  like  it.  All  the  moments  of 
pleasure  I  have  ever  had — all  the  enjoyments  of  this 
world,  have  been  nothing  compared  with  the  sweet 
peace,  the  hallowed  joy,  of  once  leaning  upon  the  Sa- 
cred Heart  of  Jesus,  and,  after  pouring  out  all  the 
deep  griefs  and  hidden  sorrows  of  the  soul,  then  to  re- 
ceive Him  in  Holy  Communion.  This-  is  all  I  want 
to  render  life  happy ;  and,  believe  me,  L — ,  it  is 
enough.  I  did  not  forget  you  this  morning  ;  I  pray- 
ed long  for  you,  and  will  continue  to  do  so."     .... 

[  Jb  her  Friend  in  Burlington.^ 
"Fairfield,  May  2,  1858 — Sunday  Evening. 
"  My  kind  and  loved  Friend  :  While  I  write,  you 
undoubtedly  are  present  at  the  Evening  Office  of  the 
Church,  and  I  trust  your  thoughts  turn  to  me  once  in 
a  while,  and  you  breathe  a  silent  prayer  for  my  perse- 
verance. While  you,  my  dear  friend,  are  thus  en- 
gaged— while  the  sounds  of  earthly  music  are  bring- 
ing to  your  soul  sweet  thoughts  of  the  celestial  choirs, 
/am  joining  you  in  spirit,  though  absent  in  the  body. 
I  have  read  my  vespers,  and  am  quietly  seated  in  my 
room  writing  to  you ;  and,  as  I  proceed,  the  happy 
emotions  of  my  heart  seem  to  wish  utterance.  I  am 
thinking  of  you  and  me — of  the  mysterious  love  of 
of  our  God,  in  calling  us  to  such  an  inheritance  as  He 

has I  have  been  listening  to  some  conversation 

with  regard  to  the  great  excitement  throughout  our 
country,  termed  a  '■religious  awakening;''  and  more 
than  ever,  it  seems  to  me,  I  have  returned  thanks  to 
our  Heavenly  Father  for  the  gift  of  faith  wdiich  He 
has  bestowed  upon  me.  These  Protestant  '  Revivals' 
have  brought  very  forcibly  to  my  mind  the  unspeak- 
able blessings  we  have  received  in  being  rescued  from 
such  delusions,  and  admitted  into  the  Church  of  Jesus 
Christ.  And  why  us  more  than  others  ?  This  is  a 
question  I  often  ask.  But  we  know  not :  we  only 
know  it  was  a  grace  given  us  of  God's  own  free  mer- 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


141 


oy,  and  not  from  any  merit  of  our  own  ;  for  wc  hard- 
ly wished  for  the  gift  at  first,  but  He  drew  us  by  Ilis 
h)ve,  and  gave  it  to  us  almost  without  our   asking 

it The  Month  of  Mary  is  just  commencing. 

1  suppose  there  are  services  in  the  church  in  Burling- 
ton. I  had  the  happiness  of  being  in  St.  iVlbans 
to  commence  the  month,  and  received  Holy  Com- 
munion there  yesterday  morning As  for  my- 
self, I  must  be  content  with  reading  my  meditations, 
and  saying  my  prayers  for  this  month  pretty  much 
alone.  I  suppose  your  sister  S —  is  much  more  lone- 
ly in  O —  than  we  are  here,  and  when  I  am  tempted 
to  complain,  she  rises  up  to  condemn  ?ne,  and  I  am 
silent.  Helen  has  been  more  comfortable  for  the  past 
week.      Perhaps  it  is  nothing  lasting — I  dare  not 

hope  too  much I  thank  you  for  your  words 

of  consolation,  and  should  know  from  your  letter  that 
you  truly  sympathize  with  us Helen  and  An- 
na join  in  much  love  to  you  and  your  sisters."     .... 

"  Fairfield,  June  20,  1858. 

"  My  own  dear  L — e  :  I  received  to-day  the  intel- 
ligence of  your  grandfather's  death,  and  now  know 

the  reason  of  your  long  silence How  is  yo^ur 

grandmother?  I  am  sure  she  must  be  vey  much  worn 
out — aud  yo'T  dear  self — how  are  you  ?  Do  you  still 
intend  to  remain  in  Burlington  until  autumn  V  .... 
I  shall  soon  expect  you  at  Fairfield,  and  you  must  re- 
main a  number  of  weeks  when  you  do  come.  Helen 
wants  to  see  you  very  much,  and  my  mother  also. 
Helen  is  failing ,  she  has  not  left  her  bed  for  more 
than  a  fortnigjit,  and  for  the  past  week  has  been  a 
great  sufferer 

"  Oh  how  time  changes  !  how  friends  change  ;  and, 
in  fact,  how  all  things  change  but  God  !  Death  and 
trouble,  sorrow  and  pain,  are  recorded  upon  every 
page  of  the  passing  year,  and  one  can  hardly  recog- 
nize in  the  things  of  this  year  any  likeness  to  those 
of  the  last.  But  there  is  ()nc  Who  never  alters — 
Who  is  ever  the  same — unchangeable.  This  is  our 
consolation  in  this  poor  world,  and  what  a  precious 
one  !....• 


■f 


,«.; 


142 


THE    YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


[To  the  same.] 

"  Fairfield,  July  18,  1858. 
"  My  own  dear  L — e  :  Yours  was  received  last  even- 
ing, and  was  a  glad  surprise  to  me.    I  almost  felt  that 
you  were  never  going  to  write  again,  so  long  was  your 

silence,  but  I  have  been  happily  disappointed 

I  am  so  anxious  for  time  to  pass  swiftly  away  until 
after  Commencement,  for  I  am  sure  you  will  como 
then.  When  I  let  you  go  again  is  another  question. 
....     Since  I  wrote  last,  Helen  has  failed  somewhat. 

Her  appetite  is  very  poor I  thank  you  for 

your  kind  letter.  I  can  truly  say,  my  own  L — ,  if 
God  did  not  sustain  us  under  afflictions,  we  should  of- 
ten sink.  I  know  is  is  the  will  of  our  Divine  Lord,  and 
my  constant  prayer  has  ever  been,  that  my  will  might 

be  conformed  to  His The  spirit  of  sacrifice 

is  my  aim,  and  whatever  helps  me  to  attain  it  I  know 
comes  from  the  Hand  of  Jesus.     To  be  united  with 
Him  upon  the  Cross  is  my  only  ambition.      Though 
I  love  Him  in  Bethlehem,  in  Nazareth,  in  His  tri- 
umphant march  into  Jerusalem ;     though  my  admi- 
ration and  love  are  awakened  when  meditating  upon 
the  miracles  of  His  active  life — and  I  love  to  linger 
S.H  the  Apostles  did,  to  catch  the  Divine  words  that 
fell  from  His  sacred  lips — still,  it  is  upon  the  heights 
of  Calvary  that  I  find  Him  the  most  beautiful — it  is 
there  1  wish  to  stay  the  longest :    and,  my  own  L — , 
I  must  not  profess  this,  and  be  unwilling  to  share 
with  my  Divine  Master  in  the  chalice  of  His  Passion. 
"  In  the  cross  is  the  height  of  virtue ;    in  the  cross 
is  the  perfection  of  sanctity,"  and  there  we  must  seek 
it.     But  how  often  we  shrink  from  it !     The  reproof 
of  the  beautiful  writer,  A-Kempis,  seems  often  to  bo 
very  applicable  to  me.      "  All  recommend  patience, 
but  few  desire  to  suffer.    Jesus  has  many  companions 
of  His  table,  but  few  of  His  abstinence."      ....      I 
hope  you  will  let  me  know  when  to  expect  you,  for  I 
want  to  go  to  St.  Albans  for  you  myself.     ....     Re- 
rrif^Tiibor  me  to  vour  jrrandmother,  and  believe  me  ev- 
er  the  same." 

"  Debbie,  Enfant  de  Maric.^'' 


THE   YOUNO   CONVERTS. 


143 


ov 


I) 


A  few  Jays  later  slio  wrote  to  her  friend  at  St.  Eu- 
stache : 

"Fairfield,  July  20,  1858. 
....  "  Since  I  wrote  you  last,  Helen  has  failed 
considerably.  She  continues  very  cheerful  all  the 
time,  and  seems  to  have  no  fear  of  death.  She  re- 
ceives the  sacraments  every  week,  now  that  she  is 
confined  to  her  bed.  Her  stomach  and  bowels  being 
equally  diseased  with  her  lungs,  she  has  to  sufter  a 
great  deal.  Her  constant  cheerfnlness  is  a  subject 
of  surprise  among  our  Protestant  friends,  and  admira- 
tion to  Catholics.  In  hours  of  severe  pain  she  chang- 
es not  her  smile,  and  between  moments  of  distress 
and  anguish,  she  will  converse  and  laugh  with  those 
around  her.  She  receives  visits  from  all  who  ever 
knew  her  :  they  often  say  to  me  on  leaving,  '  How 
can  Helen  be  so  happy  ?  she  must  have  something  to 
sustain  her !'  If  they  only  knew  !  J/'  they  only  knew  ! 
'^ro  me  it  is  a  great  consolation,  you  may  be  sure,  this 
her  peaceful  frame  of  mind ;  for  when  I  am  looking 
forward  to  my  own  loneliness,  after  her  departure,  I 
feel  less  sad  to  think  that  I  shall  have  the  memory  of 
her  submission  to  the  will  of  our  Divine  Lord.  (I 
had  better  say  joy  in  it.)  ....  The  conscionsness 
that  I  am  doing  the  will  of  God  is  enough  to  make 
me  content.  I  am  sometimes  lonely  fpr  St.  Eus- 
tache,  but  I  will  not  complain.  I  had  a  year  there 
which  I  little  deserved,  and  it  will  never  be  forgotten. 
The  remembrance  of  the  graces  there  received,  and 
of  the  quiet  happiness  of  my  sojourn  with  you,  will 
be  among  the  bright  thoughts  of  my  future  !"     .... 

*'  In  a  letter  to  the  Compiler  of  these  memoira, 
written  August  1st,  1858,  Debbie  says:  "Helen  is 
now  very  feeble — does  not  sit  up  at  all.     I  can  see 

that  she  fails  from  day  to  day You  probably 

hear  from  her  other  ways ;  therefore  I  will  leave  the 
rest  until  you  see  her,  which  we  were  so  happy  to  hear 
we  might  hope  would  be  very  soon.  Helen  and  my- 
self have  looked  for  you  and  Mary  to  visit  us,  and 
longed  to  see  you  both  ;  but  we  know  also  how  little 
time  you  have  to  leave  home,  since  your  family  is  so 


III' 


■J 


144 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERT*;. 


"» 


^  r.   ' 


f.  . 


■  '"*■   *l 


,.  y 


Iar;^c,  ami  of  course  liave  iiiado  all  a/lowancea.  1 
heard  from  father  R —  of  Bisliop  Young's  visit  lo  the 
family  of  our  Jaithfid  Libbie  in  Ohio.  I  should  not 
be  sur{)rised  if  her  friends  should  yet  be  united  with 
her  in  the  precious  bonds  of  the  Catholic  faith.  What 
a  joy  it  would  be  for  her,  for  us,  for  every  Catholic 
lieart  the  world  over — another  glorious  conquest  of 
Faith !  ]>e  sure,  I  have  not  forgotten  to  pray  for 
them ;  and  for  her,  that  she  may  be  allowed  to  go  to 
the  Ursuline  Convent  in  Cleveland,  as  she  desires.  It 
would  be  such  a  happiness  for  the  dear  chihl !  I  must 
not  write  more  to-night,  for  I  have  not  the  time. 
Poor  Helen  says,  '  I  shall  probably  never  visit  my 
friends  again  they  must  come  and  see  me.'  You  lit- 
tle know  how  feeble  she  is.  and  how  much  attention 
she  recpiires.  She  joins  me  in  warmest  love  to  you 
and  Aunt  L — ,  who  is,  I  hope,  improving  in  health. 
I  have  heard  several  times  she  was  not  well.  l*re- 
.scnt  our  kindest  regards  to  your  good  husband  S — , 
Mary,  and  all  your  family.  I  remain,  yours  very 
atfectionately,    Debbie  Barlow,  Enfant  do  Marie.'''' 

In  fulfilment  of  the  expectation  mentioned  in  this 
letter,  we  went,  (Mary  and  I,)  soon  after  its  receipt,  to 
pass  a  long  summer-day  with  them  in  Fairfield,  start- 
ing very  early  in  the  morning.  A  short  passage  con- 
nected Helen's  room  with  the  parlor  into  which  wo 
were  conducted  upon  our  entrance.  Debbie  met  us 
with  great  joy.  We  stopped  to  make  some  inquiries 
about  Helen  before  going  to  her,  when  to  our  surprise 
the  door  into  that  passage  opened  suddenly,  and 
Helen  was  before  us  !  I  shall  never  forget  how  like  an 
angel  she  looked  as  she  stood  in  that  door-way ;  her 
face  all  radiant  with  joy,  and  the  folds  of  her  long 
white  muslin  robe  floating  about  her  !  She  had 
recognized  our  voices  and  could  not  wait  for  us  to 
ask  questions,  but  must  see  us  at  once.  It  was  so  like 
our  own  Helen  !  Neither  can  I  ever  forget  the  emo- 
tions that  swelled  my  heart  almost  to  bursting,  as  I  fol- 
ded her  in  a  long  embrace,  and  then  with  loving  chid- 
ings,  half  playful,  half  assumed  to  hide  the  grief  which 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


145 


in  this 
ipt,  to 
stavt- 

e  cou- 
li  wo 

met  us 
uiries 

urprise 
,  and 
ike  ail 

y  ;  licr 
r  long 
e  had 
us  to 
so  like 
!  cmo- 
,s  I  fol- 
r  chid- 
wUich 


mast  bo  suppressed,  led  her  Lack  to  her  Led.  It  was 
one  of  tlio  few  occasions  upon  which  Debhio  had 
known  her  to  yield  to  tlic  slronfr  emotions  of  which 
v.'o  knew  her  imi»nlsivo  nature  was  so  susceptible. 
After  the  momentary  "  April  sliowcr"  the  old  sun- 
shine ghmced  back  upon  us,  as  with  one  of  her  merri- 
est laughs  she  said.  "  It  made  a  lah;i  of  me  to  sec  yoM, 
aunty,  to  think  of  all  the  past,  and  to  know  it  is  all 
past — will  return  no  more  forever  !  But  sweeter  than 
memories  of  pleasant  hours  is  the  will  of  my  God!" 
"Yes,"  clasping  her  thin  white  hands  together,  and 
smiling,  wliile  her  uplifted  eyes  beamed  with  joy  and 
love  unutterable,  "  to  know  that  I  shall  so  soon  see 
Him  as  Tie  is,  and  with  the  blessed  saints  adore  Ilim 
in  Jlis  glory'  is  wortli  more  than  all  the  joys  a  thous- 
and worlds  like  this  could  give  !"  She  would  not  let 
me  leave  lier  that  day.  Even  when  she  must  rest  a 
little  while,  her  liand  were  clasped  in  mine.  How 
reluctantly  I  left  her  at  its  close  !  and  how  well  did  I 
forb')de  that  I  should  never  see  her  face,  or  listen  to 
that  dear  voice  again;  even  while  I  flattered  myself 
and  her,  that  I  might  be  able  to  go  to  her  again  be- 
fore her  departure  !  It  seems  to  me  as  I  recall  it,  that 
the  face  was  never  so  radiantly  beautiful,  or  the  voice 
so  softly  sweet,  as  during  those  hours  of  my  last  in- 
terview with  her  !  A  few  weeks  later  Debbie  wrote 
to  St.  Eustache  : 

"Fairfield,  Sept.,  1858. 

"  My  Dear  Tante  S . .    Letters  from  St.  Eu- 

stache  float  like  sunbeams  across  my  path,  shediling 
light  where  all  seems  dark  around  me  !  They  are  al- 
ways so  full  of  consolations  and  cheering  with  all  the 
rest,  that  I  love  them  more  and  more,  each  one  that 
comes.  Our  Divine  Lord  always  gives  something  to 
console,  even  when  He  is  afflicting  His  children  the 
most,  and  I  sometimes  think  He  has  done  so  in  my 
case,  by  sending  me  such  friends  as  1  have,  I  fear  I 
am  not  thankful  enough  to  (Jod  for  those  great  gifts. 
Since  I  wrote  you  last  our  dear  Helen  has  continued 

to  fail.     One  week  ago  Father  R gave  her  Holy 

Comuiauion   and   Extreme   Unctiun.     She  has  been 


i 


lllplf 


w,    , 


146 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


4 


m 


more  comfortable  since.  81ic  was  as  calm  through  it 
as  she  has  been  through  all.  The  day  follosving,  our 
good  Bi.shop  came  to  Fairfield  to  visit  her.  She 
seemed  to  enjoy  his  visit  very  much.  He  told  me  on 
leaving  that  he  thought  her  '  dispositions  the  most 
remarkable  he  had  ever  known' — that  he  had  never 
seen  a  person  who  had  seemed,  from  the  very  first,  so 
completely  resigned  to  the  will  of  God.  And  he  is 
right.  She  has  never  said,  '  I  wish  to  live,  or  I  wish 
to  dte.^  She  has  always  said  it  was  a  matter  of  per- 
fect indifference  to  hev,  that  she  wits  in  the  hands  of 
God,  and  He  would  do  v/ith  her  as  He  saw  fit,  and  it 
would  all  he  rtr/ht.  I  have  never  heard  her  say  that 
she  wished  to  be  released  from  her  sufferings,  The 
nearest  approach  to  anything  of  the  kind  that  I  have 
heard,  was  a  few  days  ago.  She  had  suffered  much 
for  want  of  breath.  I  w^as  sitting  near  her,  and  she 
finally  said  ;  '  Oh,  Jww  long  do  you  think,  Debbie,  I 
shall  carry  about  me,  this  poor  hod'/  V  I  replied, '  Not 
long.  I  think,  d-^^ar  ?'  She  looked  at  me,  and  such  an 
expression  of  delight  passed  over  her  countenance  as 
I  have  seldom  seen,  while  she  exclaimed,  '  IFonH  I 
Ireathe  easy,  then  !  and  it  will  be  a  different  air  from 
this!'  On  the  eve  of  the  Assumption.  I  was  leaving 
her  room  to  go  to  my  own,  and  as  I  went  up  to  her 
bed  to  bid  her  good-night,  she  said  to  me,  *  We  shall 
wake  to  a  glorious  festival  to-morrow ;  what  if  / 
should  awake  in  a  hcttGr  world  ?'  I  asked  her  if  she 
would  like  to.  '  If  it  were  the  will  of  God,  I  would 
not  ohjed  !''  was  her  reply.  It  is  such  a  consolation 
to  see  her  thus  !  How  can  I  ever  be  thankful  enougli 
to  Almighty  God  in  her  behalf  I  ....  A  life  of 
thanksgiving  would  be  nothing !  She  has  given 
away  all  her  things ;  that  is,  all  she  valued.  She  has 
spoken  of  her  burial  and  all  those  matters,  so  as  to 
relieve  me  she  says  ;  she  speaks  of  them  as  she  would 
of  any  other  occurrences  which  were  expected  to 
take  place.     Her  calm  exterior  in  parting  with  friends, 

surprises  me Her  whole  demeanor  is  calm 

and  cheerful,  not  cold.     If  she  sees  a  friend  shed 
tears,  she  says,  '  Are  you  not  more  courageous  than 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


147 


uougli 
ife  of 
given 

Ibe  has 
as  to 

I  would 
ted  to 


rien 


ds, 
calm 
shed 
than 


that  ?'    and  so  she  h  through  all.     I  pray  God  she 

may  continue   so.     Father   R brings  the  Holy 

Communion   to  her   every    week What   is 

gain  for  her,  will  be  loss  for  us  !  Helen  is  a  lovely 
girl,  (if  she  is  my  sister,)  and  too  much  so  for  earth. 
I  complain  not  that  Heaven  has  chosen  her  !  Anna 
is  not  yet  baptized,  and  difficulties  are  abundant  in 
the  way.     They  seem  to  multiply  around  her."   .... 

•'  Fairfield,  Sept.  20tii,  1858. 

"  My  own  dear  L — c  :  I  follow  the  bent  of  my 
feelings  to-night  and  answer  your  k'v.d  letter  received 
last  evening.  My  Sunday  duties  are  finished,  unless 
it  may  be  to  say  my  evening  prayers,  and  I  am  sure 
a  pleasant  conversation  with  you  will  not  be  out  of 
place.  I  missed  you  much  after  you  left,  and  have 
often  thought  your  visit  was  quite  too  short.  But  I 
hope  it  is  not  the  last.  I  wish  I  could  know  that 
you  would  not  leave  Vermont  this  winter 

"  Helen  is  failing  much  more  rapidly  than  when 
you  were  here,  and,  though  she  may  live  some  time 
yet,  still,  Dr.  Worcester  says  she  is  liable  to  drop 
away  any  time 

"  She  received  the  last  Sacraments,  that  is  :  Ex- 
treme Unction,  and  Holy  Communion  as  Viaticum, 
the  day  after  you  left  here.  Perfect  resignation,  and 
a  calm,  quiet  joy,  seems  to  possess  her  soul.  She 
waits  for  death,  and  though  willing  to  remain  as  long 
as  God  wills,  still  I  sometimes  imagine  she  longs  to 
be  released 

I  had  my  likeness  taken  for  you  a  few  days  ago  in 
St.  Albans.     Persons   who  have  seen  it  pronounce  it 

very  good You  must  return  the  compliment 

ajid  send  me  yours Mr.  and  Mrs.  K s,  of 

Cleveland,  passed  a  day  with  us  before  they  left.  I 
liked  the  latter  very  much  indeed.  They  invited  mo 
to  pass  a  season  with  them  ;  but  before  T  get  ready  to 
do  that,  I  imagine  I  shall  be  preparing  for  another 
kind  of  life  ;  at  least  I  trust  I  shall.     Tlie  time  seems 

so  long  to  me  ere  I  go More  and  more,  and 

the  longer  I  live,  the  desire  increases  within  me  to 
consecrate  myself  to  the  service  of  CJod.     Nothing 


! 


I' 


jl:^- 


9Wf,  W  -I     '    l*M  II^IXI 


>'      '> 


'If  * 

.    K 


148 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


short  of  this  can  satisfy  my  heart.  The  workl  can 
not  do  it,  or  the  love  of  earthly  beings  Dteu  Seul, 
Dim  Seul  /"     .... 

"  Sister  St.  A — e  sent  her  love  to  you  in  her  last 
letter.  She  says,  if  you  go  to  Montreal,  you  must  not 
fail  to  go  to  St.  Eustache  to  see  her.  *  You  have  been 
too  faithful  a  friend  to  Debbie,  not  to  have  her  love 
you,'  she  says."     . , . . 

"Fairfield,  Sat.  Morn.,  Oct.  30,  1858. 

"My  own  dear  L — e  :  This  morning  I  write  you 
a  far  different  letter  than  ever  before.  Xow  mv  trial 
has  come,  but  it  is  a  happy  one.  Our  dear  Helen  is 
no  longer  of  this  earth.  She  died  yesterday  p  ang 
at  a  quarter  before  ten.  Her  departure  was  a  glori- 
ous one,  as  we  might  have  expected.  Her  sufferings 
were  very  great,  and  I  stood  bv  her  until  the  last. 
Heaven  has  sustained  me  thus  far.  The  funeral  will 
be  at  eleven  o'clock  Monday  morning;  and  her  body 
will  be  taken  to  St.  Albans  for  interment.  T  have 
not  time  to  tell  you  more.     Ever  your  own 

"Deht-te." 

"  St.  Albans,  Nov.  4tii,  1858— My  Dear  Tan  e  S— 
I  have,  this  morning,  to  communicate  to  you  the  sad 
intelligence  that  our  dear  Helen  is  no  more  of  this 
earth.  She  died  last  Friday  morning,  at  a  quarter 
before  ten,  and  her  funeral  was  attended  at  Fairfield, 
at  eleven  o'clock,  on  the  Feast  of  All-Saints,  (Nov  1st,) 
after  which  her  remains  were  brought  to  St.  Albans 
for  interment.  I  am  sure  you  will  desire  to  know  all 
the  particulars  of  her  death,  and  I  will  try  to  give 
them  in  full.  On  the  Tluirsday  evening  previous  to 
Thursday,  the  last  day  of  her  life,  she  commenced  sink- 
ing rapidly.  We  called  in  a  physician,  and  she  asked 
him  how  much  lono-er  he  thouolit  she  had  to  live? 
He  told  her  but  a  short  time,  though  probably  for  a 
day  or  two  longer.  From  that  moment  her  counten- 
ance assumed  the  most  joyous  expression  I  ever  saw 
it  wear,  and  so  continued  until  death.  She  remainc;! 
pretty  comfortable  until  Tuesday  night,  when  about 
three  o'  clock  in  the  night,  or  rather  Wednesday  morn- 
ing, we  thought  her  going.     The  physician  was  in  the 


■RnBBseaaiBrannc 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


149 


d   can 

I  Seuly 

3r  last 
ist  not 
^e  been 
er love 

.858. 
•ite  you 
my  trial 
lelen  is 

a  ^:lovi- 
ifferings 
■he  last, 
oral  will 
ler  body 
J  bavc 

ane  S — 
;:lic  sad 
of  this 
qnavtcv 
Fairfield, 
pov  1st,) 
,.  Albans 
know  all 
to  give 
levious  to 
ced  sink- 
;lic  asked 
to  live? 
bly  for  a 
connteii- 
evcr  saw 
remainc;! 
hen  about 
lay  moni- 
,vas  in  the 


next  roon.*  I  stepped  and  spoke  to  liim,  asking  if 
he  thought  there  was  any  change  ?  After  watching 
her  breathing  for  a  short  time,  he  told  me  be  thought 
there  was.  She  then  requested  the  family  to  be  call- 
ed. Father  and  Mother,  and  the  other  three  sisters 
were  called  from  their  beds,  and  we  all  stood  around 
(what  we  supposed)  her  dying  couch;  she  was  sup- 
ported by  pillows,  and  sitting  up.  The  scene  was 
beyond  description.  Father  was  bowed  down  by 
grief,  and  mother  worse — but  Helen!  what  shall  I 
say  of  her  ?  A  bright  smile,  a  look  almost  of  delight 
animated  her  features,  as  she  addressed  each  one  sep- 
arately. She  called  liaura  and  Charlotte,  and  embrac- 
ed them  both;  then  taking  Anna  by  one  hand,  and 
father  by  the  other,  she  said  to  the  former, '  You  prom- 
ise me,  don't  you  Annie  ?'  Then  turning  her  eyes  to- 
wards father,  she  spoke  in  this  way  :  '  Father,  I  am 
almost  home  ;  my  work  is  almost  done ;  would  that  I 
had  lived  better  !  But  God  is  merciful !  These 
cliildren  must  all  come  to  this  hour ;  thet/  must  one 
day  be  where  I  am  noiv,  and  I  want  them  to  have  the 
same  consolations  that  I  have  !'  Not  one  could  reply. 
She  then  continued  :  '  1  have  loved  you  all;  I  have 
disobeyed  but  in  one  thing  !  Is  it  right,  now,  father  !' 
He  answered  her  :  '  Yes,  my  child,  it  is  all  right !'  She 
then  bid  them  all  good-bye,  and  turned  to  her  pbysi- 
cian  :  '  Doctor,  liave  I  much  longer  to  stay  ?'  His  re- 
ply was  that  he  thought  not.  She  then  began  to  pray 
and  I,  kneeling  by  her  side,  could  occasionally  catch 
some  words  from  her  lips  though  her  voice  was  very 
indistinct.  It  was  evident  her  mind  was  in  Heaven,  for 
twice  she  exclaimed,  '  Call  me  to  Heaven  !  call  me  to 
Heaven  !     She  spoke  of  nothing,  only  to  ask,  '  Arc 


'*  Tho  sisters  wore  deeply  attached  to  this  physician,  who 
also  entertained  a  most  afiocionato  regard  for  them.  So  strong 
was  the  interest  they  felt  for  his  spiritual, welfare,  ihat/at  their 
joint  and  earnest  request,  the  Compiler  presented  his  name  to 
a  pious  confraternit}^,  formed  for  the  sole  purpose  of  praying 
for  the  conversion  of  those  who  have  manifested  an  interest, 
at  any  time,  in  our  holy  religion. — Compiler. 


y-  '  }\ 


:tl:i  ' 

'ii; 


!|^ 


150 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


,*• 


-    *• 

'    ?* 'i 

1 

V   h|,%        - 

■4       ' 

't 

V ,.;'  1 

., 

■'    £^$^ 

:■  ftt 

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*  t 

you  near  me,  Debbie  ?'  Finally,  she  seemed  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  the  weeping  around  her.  '  Why  do  you  re. 
gret?  You  have  reason  to  rejoice,  father  !'  said  she, 
Then  wispering  to  me,  she  added  :  '  Send  them  away. 
Debbie,  they  are  drawing  me  away  from  Heaven  !' 
She  continued  in  this  way  imtil  day-break  AVednesday 
morning  when,  instead  of  dying,  she  revived ;  but  from 
that  time  until  Thursday  noon,  she  never  swallowed 
but  once.  Of  course,  her  sufferings  were  very  great, 
but  patience  was  not  wanting  on  her  part.  Father  R — 
came  in  to  see. her.  He  asked  if  there  was  anything 
more  he  could  do  for  her.  Her  reply  was,  '  no,  Fath- 
re  R — ,  only  to  pray  for  me.'  It  was  the  last  time  he 
ever  saw  her.  He  said  he  thought  her  the  happiest 
soul  he  had  ever  attended.  She  lingered  along  through 
the  day  and  night,  until  Friday  morning,  at  the  early 
hour  of  half  past  three  :  then  she  began  to  sink  as  be- 
fore. Her  physician,  who  never  left  the  house,  came 
into  the  room,  and  she  asked  him :  '  Have  I  much 
longer  to  stay  ?'  He  examined  her  pulse,  and  told 
her  she  had  not The  family  were  again  call- 
ed, and  some  friends  who  were  in  the  house.  About 
this  time,  her  vision  seemed  to  be  becoming  imperfect, 
and  she  said  to  the  Doctor,  '  Is  this  room  filled  with 
ashes  ?  '  Why  no,  my  child  1'  She  requested  to  be 
moved  near  the  window  that  she  might  breath  easier, 
and  said  ao-ain  to  the  Doctor, '  Did  vou  ever  see  such 
air  ?'  '  Helen.'  said  he,  '  you  do  ■>  t  sec  perfectly ; 
there  is  nothing  in  the  room.'  She  then  turned  to 
me :  '  I  shall  not  breathe  such  air  as  this  in  Heaven, 
shall  T  Debbie  ?'  Then  she  asked  again  :  '  u}fmt  I  stay 
much  longer,  Doctor  ?'  Being  answered  '  No,'  she 
said,  '  Good  bye,  all.  I  have  said  all  I  have  to  say  ; 
now  stay  by  me,  Debbie.'  By  this  time  her  voice  had 
become  almost  inaudible,  but  by  being  so  near,  I  could 
distinguish  parts  of  sentences.  Her  lips  moved  con- 
stantly, and  the  names  of  Jestis  and  Mary  were  re- 
peatedly uttered.  She  asked  me  to  sa}^  '  We  fly  to 
thy  Patronage.'  I  did  so,  and  also  the  Litany  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Shie  responded,  '  Pray  for  us,'  until 
I  was  nearly  through,  her  voice  was  too  faint  to  be 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


151 


le  dls- 

ou  re. 

d  she, 

away. 

iveii !' 

mesday 

it  from 

Uowed 

great, 

lerR — 

ly  thing 

.,Fath- 

time  lie 

appiest 

brougli 

le  early 

k  as  1)0- 

;e,  came 

I  mucli 

md  told 

[ain  call- 
About 

iperfcct, 

led  with 

ed  to  be 

[h  easier, 
sec  audi 
rfectly ; 
irned  to 
iHcaven, 
\ist  I  stay 
0,'  sbe 
to  say ; 
oice  bad 
,  I  could 
ed  con- 
Iwere  re- 
fly  to 
ly  of  the 
ills,'  untd 
Lt  to  be 


heard ;  but  when  the  concluding  prayer  was  finished, 
she  sard  '  Amen !'  so  that  every  person  in  the  room 
heard  her  plainly.  She  held  her  crucifix  as  long  as 
her  hands  were  strong  enough,  and  times  without  num- 
ber, pressed  it  lovingly  to  her  lips.  Being  uncertain 
whether  she  could  see  or  not,  I  held  it  before  her  a 
short  time  after  she  had  dropi)ed  it.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  again  upon  it  for  a  moment,  and  sweetly  whisper- 
ed, '  My  crucified  Lord !'  These  were  the  last  words 
she  uttered,  while  her  mind  remained  clear.  Soon 
the  doctor  perceived  that  an  abscess  had  broken  upon 
her  lungs,  and  then  her  mind  seemed  to  wander  ;  un- 
til nine  o'clock,  she  continued  to  speak  but  very  lit- 
tle. She  seemed  happy  all  the  time,  but  partly  un- 
conscious of  her  situation.  At  a  quarter  past  nine  she 
began  to  suffer  the  most  terrible  agony,  and  from 
that  time  ceased  to  speak,  except  a  few  times  we  heard 
mij  name.  At  a  quarter  before  ten,  she  breathed  her 
last.  Her  physician  thought  she  had  been  unconscious 
of  her  sufferings  for  half  an  hour.  I  stood  by  her  side 
until  all  was  over.  Anna  and  Laura  were  in  the 
room,  but  none  of  the  other  friends.  After  death,  her 
countenance  was  perfectly  lovely.  The  same  smile 
lingered  on  those  pale  lips,  and  every  one  who  beheld 
her  pronounced  her  '  beautiful  in  death.'  On  the  days 
while  she  lay  in  the  house,  more  then  six  hundred 
people  came  to  see  her.  The  funeral  was  very  large. 
Forty-six  carriages,  and  a  groat  many  on'  foot,,  follow- 
ed her  remains  from  Fairfield  to  St.  Albans,  eight 
miles,  notwithstanding  the  unfavorable  weather  and 
very  bad  rrads.  She  died  as  she  had  lived,  and 
you  know  how  that  was.  Would  .that  my  last  end 
might  be  like  hers  !     I  am  certian  that  you  will  not 

forget  to  pray  for  the  repose  of  her  soul lam 

now  at  Mr.  Hoyt's  passing  a  few  days/'     .... 

"And  Helen  was  gone !  We  could  never  have 
thought  that  she  would  die  so  young — she  who  was 
so  blithe,  so  sparkling ;  so  original  in  all  sportful 
fancies.  Helen,  to  apply  the  expressions  of  a  much 
admired  modern  writer  to  her, '  with  her  piquant  face 
engaging  prattle,  and  winning  ways,  was  made  to  bo 


III 

'I 


,  "f  •    .■'I 


if,' 


15 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


a  p?t.  Do  you  know  this  place  ?  No,  you  never  saw 
it  (perhaps).  But  you  recognize  the  nature  of  these 
trees,  this  foliage  !  ....  Stones  like  these  are  not  un- 
familiur  to  you;  nor  arc  these  dim  garlands  of  ever- 
lasting flowers.  Here  is  the  place — green  sod,  and  a 
white  marble  head-stone — Helen  sleeps  below  !  She 
lived  through  an  April  day ;  much  loved  was  she, 
much  loving.  She  often,  in  her  brief  life,  shed  tears ; 
she  had  frequent  sorrows ;  she  smiled  between,  glad- 
dening w  atever  saw  her  !" — Her  spirit  was  attuned 
to  the  harmony  of  Heaven.  Her  practice,  erdire  con- 
formity to  the  M-ill  of  her  Maker !  Long  shall  we 
miss  thee,. darling  !     Rcquiescat  m pace! 


153 


lii;..- 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


'■   n 


„.,f 


-  ■•< 


On  the  first  of  December  1(S58,  Debbie  wrote  the 
following  to  her  friend  at  St.  Eustache  : 

"  Anna  has  been  preparing  for  baptism  and  requir- 
ed all  my  leisure  hours.  She  had  the  happiness  of 
being  received  into  the  church  yesterday  morning,  on 
the  anniversary  of  my  own  baptism,  so  you  perceive 
I  have  double  cause  for  returning  thanks  to  Almighty 
God.  She  obtained  permission  without  difficulty,  and 
now  is  within  the  Ark  of  Safety.  I  was  her  god- 
mother ;  she  was  baptized  Anna  Maria.  Any  one 
whom  I  have  anything  to  do  with  must  take  the 
name  of  Mary.  She  will  probably  make  her  first 
Communion  on  Christmas  and  be  confirmed  about 
that  time,  as  we  expect  the  Bishop  then  to  spend  a 
few  days  in  Fairfield.  She  seems  very  happy,  and  de- 
sires your  fervent  prayers  for  her  perseverance."  .... 

Anna  Barlow  had  at  this  time  just  entered  her 
eighteenth  year.  She  was  not  so  tall  as  her  elder 
sisters,  but  her  form  was  very  slight,  and  her  carriage 
singularly  easy  and  graceful.  Her  clear  blue  eyes 
sparkled  with  intelligence  and  feeling,  and  her  com- 
plexion was  so  purely  transparent  as  to  reveal  but 
too  plainly,  to  an  experienced  eye,  a  constitutional 
tendency  to  the  fatal  disease  which  claimed  its  vic- 
tim so  much  sooner  than  could  have  been  anticipated, 
that  the  conviction  of  its  presence  fell  like  a  bewil- 
dering surprise  upon  us  all.  The  remarkable  energy 
and  activity  of  her  character  and  habits,  probably 
aided  in  concealing  to  a  later  period  than  is  usual  in 
such  caseSj  the  painful  truth — always  most  unwilling- 


,i   'i 


154 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


K'  --'•»:. 


ly  aJmittcJ  by  fond  hearts — that  she  was  destined  to 
an  early  grave.  Daring  tliat  winter,  Debbie  made  a 
visit  of  considerable  length  in  Burlington.  While 
there  she  wrote  to  her  mother  under  date  of  Fcbrua* 
ry  1st  1859.  In  the  course  of  the  letter  she  speaks 
of  being  "  troubled  more  or  less  with  a  pain  in  my 
side,  from  some  cause  or  other.  It  troubled  me  be- 
fore I  left  home,  and  has  more  since  I  came  away.  I 
hope,  however,  it  will  leave  me  before  long." 

Some  months  after  Helen's  death,  Mr.  Barlow 
bought  a  beautiful  place  at  St.  Albans,  where  his 
chief  business  had  been  located  for  more  than  a  year 
previous,  and  his  family  began  to  make  arrangements 
for  their  removal.  In  consequence  of  a  very  thorough 
course  of  repairs  upon  the  place,  and  the  time  and  at- 
tention requisite  to  provide  and  prepare  the  new  fur- 
niture for  so  large  a  mansion,  that  removal  did  not 
take  place,  however,  until  past  the  mid-summer  of 
1859.  The  correspondence  between  Debbie  and  the 
young  friend  in  Southern  Vermont,  (from  her  letters 
to  whom  I  have  previously  given  some  extracts,)  had 
been  interrupted  for  some  time  by  circumstances  ou 
both  sides  unfavorable  to  its  continuance.  It  was  re- 
sumed in  March,  1859.  I  extract  a  part  of  a  letter 
from  Debbie  to  that  friend,  on  the  25th  of  March. 

"  My  Dear  :     I  was  somewhat  surprised  to 

receive  a  letter  from  you  a  few  evenings  since,  and 
equally  pleased.  I  had  thought  many  times  that  I 
would  write  to  you,  but  waited  hoping  to  have  some 
intelligence  from  you  first.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I 
did  not,  but  you  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure.  Yes  ! 
our  beloved  Helen  is  no  more  of  this  earth  !  .... 
Her  death  was  that  of  a  saint.  It  was  more  happy, 
more  glorious,  than  I  can  tell  you.  Her  sufferings 
were  very  great  for  sometime  before  her  departure. 
....  From  Monday  imtil  the  morning  she  died, 
which  was  Friday,  I  never  left  her  side.  Of  the 
sweet  peace,  the  almost  ecstatic  joy,  which  beamed 
in  her  countenance  for  that  length  of  time,  I  will  say 
but  little;  icords  are  inadequate  for  the  task.  She 
could  speak  most  of  the  time,  and  one  might  easily 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


155 


to 
and 
I 

oine 
I 

es! 


have  imagined  that  her  soul  was  already  experiencing 
a  foretaste  of  Heaven,  could  they  have  heard  all  that 
passed  from  those  loved  lips.  And  what  must  have 
been  going  on  in  that  heart !  I  know,  from  the  ex- 
pression of  delight,  of  rapture,  which  occasionally 
overspread  her  face,  when  all  was  silent  about,  that 
she  was  holding  communion  with  the  blessed  in 
Heaven.  I  cannot  tell  you  all  she  said ;  I  cannot 
tell  you  here  of  the  patient  resignation  with  which 
she  received  her  sufferings,  nor  of  the  longing  desire, 
the  constant  anxiety,  witli  which  she  looked  forward 
to  the  moment  when  she  should  '  sin  no  more  !'  No, 
I  cannot  tell  you  all  now,  but  I  hope  to  sec  you  soon, 
and  then  I  can  and  will.  Suffice  to  say,  she  died  on 
Friday^  the  day  upon  which  she  always  wished  to 
leave  this  weary  world,  full  of  hope,  without  one  re- 
gret for  all  she  left  behind,  without  one  sigh,  one 
tear,  or  one  look  of  sorrow,  while  others  wept  around 
her,  hour  after  hour.  She  left  not  one  stain  upon 
lier  Christian  character,  and  never,  to  my  knowledge, 
did  she  commit  one  act  which  brought  a  reproach  up- 
on the  holy  faith  she  professed.  She  has  died  *  the 
death  of  the  just,'  and  well  might  our  wish  be  that 
ours  might  be  like  unto  it.  The  burial  was  on  the 
Feast  of  All  Saints,  one  of  her  favorite  festivals. 
The  month  of  November  had  just  commenced,  as  you 
see,  and  that  being  the  month  in  which  so  much  is 
done  for  the  souls  in  purgatory,  what  a  lovely  time 
to  die  !  Could  she  have  chosen  a  better  ?  And  now, 
for  myself — Helen  is  gone  !  I  doubt  her  need  of  the 
prayers  and  suffrages  of  the  faithful ;  still  the  Church 
commands  us  to  pray  for  the  departed,  but  pray  for 
me  dear  — .  Our  Divine  Lord  has  bestowed  so  many 
graces  upon  me,  that  I  fear  lest  I  prove  ungrateful ; 
He  has  given  me  sometimes  a  little  share  in  His 
Cross,  but  not  enough  yet.  There  are  others  yet  in 
store  for  me,  and  I  regret  it  not.  Pray  that  I  may 
have  courage  and  patience  !  I  am  very  happy  this 
winter,  and  why  should  I  not  be  ?  Another,  near 
and  dear  to  me,  has  been  received  into  our  Holy 
Church !     Our  Divine  Saviour  gives  me  too  many 


•C- 


y^ 


'!!•'• 


156 


THE   YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


I  ■  J 


11 /J 


consolations.  I  know  you  rejoice  with  mc,  and  pray 
for  the  others.  We  are  about  leaving  Fairfield.  In 
May  we  expect  to  go  to  St.  Albans  to  reside."     .... 

To  the  same  :  "  ApRiii  '24t[i — . . . .  Of  course  you 
know  that  Lent  is  over.  Well,  our  church  in  Fair- 
field had  to  be  decorated  for  Easter,  and  I  have  been 
very  much  engaged  preparing  wreaths  and  flowers 
for  the  Altar.  We  have  had  services  every  day 
through  Holy  Week,  and  of  course  I  have  not  had 
many  moments  to  spare.  Thursday  night  I  had  the 
Imppincss  of  spending  the  hours  from  nine  until  twelve 
before  the  Blessed  Sacrament,  something  which  I  do 
every  year,  if  possible.  I  thought  I  Avas  going  to  be 
disappointed  this  time,  as  we  feared  we  could  not 
have  a  Repository^  but  we  did,  and  I  had  that  great 
privilege.  I  received  Holy  Communion  on  Holy 
Thursday.  You  were  not  forgotten.  Easter  has 
come,  and  we  must  rejoice,  and  we  can  do  so  togeth- 
er. The  day  is  a  very  cloudy,  dark  one  here,  not 
svh  as  it  seems  to  mc  the  feast  of  our  Lord's  Resur- 
rection ;.:.ould  be,  but  the  '  Alleluias'  made  it  seem  a 
little  more  bright.  I  love  Easter  !  There  is  some- 
thing which  takes  all  sadness  from  my  heart,  in  the 
appearance  of  everything  on  this  day.  I  do  not  won- 
der at  the  simplicity  of  their  faith,  who  see  the  sun 
dance  on  Easter  Sunday  morning.  A  year  ago  to- 
day Helen  received  Communion  for  the  last  time  in 
church,  and  I  with  her.  This  makes  me  a  little  sad 
in  spite  of  myself,  but  why  should  I  be  ?  Her  Easter 
this  year  is  a  far  happier  one,  far  more  glorious,  than 
earth  can  ever  make  it.  She  loved  the  glorious  mys- 
teries of  our  Lord's  life,  and  through  Passion  time 
she  was  ever  looking  forward  to  His  ]\esurrection, 
and  then  still  forward  to  His  Ascension."     .... 

Debbie  was  pleased  with  the  choice  of  their  future 
home,  as  the  residence  her  father  had  purchased  was 
that  of  her  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hoyt,  (who  remov- 
ed to  Burlington  to  reside  soon  after  the  sale  of  their 
house,)  where  she  and  Helen  had  passed  so  many  hap- 
py days  together.  Yet  she  experienced  deep  regrets 
upon  leaving  Fairfield,  the  home  of  her  childhood. 


THE   YOUN'(}   CONVEllTH. 


157 


!tion, 


m-ets 

100(1. 


She  had  many  friends  there  to  whom  she  was  warm- 
ly attached,  'even  among  tlioso  whose  aifection  for 
her  and  her  sister  had  been  chilled  by  their  submis- 
sion to  the  Catholic  faith.  Her  spirit,  always  too 
generous  to  stoop  to  emotions  of  ill-will,  jealousy  or 
envy,  was,  when  broun;ht  under  the  inlluence  of  that 
"^aith,  too  thoron<jjhly  imbued  with  charity  and  hunnl- 
ity,  to  reciprocate  the  coldness  she  too  often  met  from 
others,  or  to  utter  even  to  her  most  intimate  friends 
any  expressions  which  (if  they  heard  them)  could 
wound  the  feelings  of  those  who  so  carelessly  wound- 
ed her  own.  Beyond  a  gentle  and  kind  allusion  to 
her  regret  for  such  estrangements,  she  never  went. 
Our  spirited  Helen,  indeed,  would  sometimes  toss  her 
head  and  make  some  indignant  or  contemptuous  re- 
mark, but  the  next  moment  she  would  take  it  all 
back,  and  condemn  herself  with  severe  humility  for 
lier  momentary  departure  from  charity.  How  loving 
and  how  sweet  were  the  approving  smiles  with  which 
her  elder  sister  rewarded  those  little  conquests  which 
she  thus  achieved  over  her  impetuous  nature,  they 
who  have  seen  them  much  together  will  vividly  re- 
member, and  will  sympathize  with  the  emotions  wdiich 
fill  my  eyes  with  tears  as  I  record  these  reminiscen- 
ces. 

Then  there  was  the  humble  church  of  Fairfield, 
within  whose  sacred  walls  many  of  her  fondest  asso- 
ciations were  gathered.  There  she  had  often  knelt 
with  the  dear  departed  to  partake  of  the  Bread  of 
Angels.  There  they  had  gone  together  to  offer  their 
liumble  adorations  before  Jesus  in  His  Sacrament  of 
Love.  And  there,  when  that  sister's  faith  was  chang- 
ed to  sight,  and  her  hopes  closed  in  full  fruition,  she 
had  sought  daily,  for  many  months,  the  i^onsolations 
which  could  be  fonnd  only  in  communion  with  her 
Saviour,  before  His  Holy  Altar.  Its  pastor  had  also 
been  the  director  and  guide  of  her  pure  soul,  as  well 
as  those  of  her  sisters  on  their  heavenward  journey, 
since  the  day  of  their  baptism.  She  no\v  felt  more 
than  ever  her  need  of  those  holv  counsels,  which  had 
so  aided  in  supporting  her  beloved  Helen  through  the 


'ilii  •, 

mi' 


l. 


it  r "'  \ 


iiir:; 

lilii 
m 


158 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


<>■ 


.„^v 

■  .•'' 

■■■:.\. 

'  ''! 

T'in 

'*■■■ 

M 

'mam  as 

"  valley  of  the  slm;]o\v  of  doatli,"  and  from  vvlilcli  sho 
liad  herself  derived  sustain intr  aid  to  strenji,then  her 
afflicted  spirit,  under  the  loneliness  of  the  separation 
from  that  sister.  The  thought  of  hein^  deprived  of 
these,  as  she  must  he  in  a  great  measure  after  their 
removal  to  St.  Albans,  was  very  painful  to  her.  An- 
na's health  was  beginning  to  decline,  and  she  felt  that 
her  own  also  was  failing.  That  "  pain  in  her  side," 
mentioned  in  her  letter  to  her  mother  in  February, 
was,  alas  !  never  to  "  leave"  her,  as  she  hoped.  The 
final  arrangements  for  removing  were  made,  there- 
fore, under  circumstances  so  unpromising,  that  it  re- 
quired all  the  fortitufle  of  spirits  habituated  to  con- 
formity with  the  will  of  God,  to  support  them  under 
the  trial. 

In  the  early  part  of  July,  Debbie  again  visited 
Montreal,  for  the  purposa  of  making  a  spiritual  re- 
treat in  her  dear  convent  home,  to  decide  the  ques- 
tion as  to  her  vocation  to  the  life  of  a  religious.  'J'he 
following  letter  was  written  during  that  visit  to  Can- 
ada : 

"  Convent  of  the  Congreqation,  N.  D.,  ) 
St.  Eustaciik,  Aug.  IOtii.      ) 

"  My  own  dear  L — e  :  I  began  a  letter  some  days 
since  at  Montreal  and  intended  to  finish  it  but  had 
not  time,  and  here  I  am  beginning  another  which 
will  only  be  ready,  I  suppose,  after  some  days.  I 
have  been  in  Canada  nearly  six  weeks.  I  am  to  re- 
turn home  in  two  or  three  days. 

Your  letter  came  to  me  here,  and  I  am  ashamed  to 
think  I  have  not  answered  it  yet,  but  my  time  has 
been  so  much  taken  up  that  I  could  not  write  as  I 
wished. 

You  pleased  me  very  much  by  your  accoui  *  of  ae 
western  mode  of  living,  and  I  hope  you  wi^'  ae 

with  another  like  it  when  you  can 

In  return  for  your  description,  I  will  give  ;ou  one 
of  ray  stay  in  Canada.  A  poor  one,  I,  am  sure  it  v  ill 
be,  but  you  must  let  your  imagination  fill  up  the 
blanks. 

I  arrived  in  Montreal  the  1st  of  July,  evo  of  the 


THE    YOUN(i    CONVERTS. 


159 


lays 

bad 

licli 

I 

le- 

}dto 
lias 
as  I 

lie 
lie 

01   J 

^  ill 
the 

the 


Festival  of  the  ViHitation  of  tlio  Jilosscd  Virgin  to 
St.  Elizabeth.  This  is  tlie  feast  patromil  of  the  Coii- 
gve<:^ation,  N.  1). — the  j^reatcst  day  in  the  year  for 
tlioni.  Their  chapel  was  de(3orated  beautifully,  and 
the  relitjious  services  of  the  dav  were  iiia<niilicent. 
In  the  eveninfi^  after  Vespers  I  came  to  St.  Eustache 
with  one  of  the  nun.^.  St.  A — e  is  here.  Of  course 
I  was  rejoiced  to  see  her,  and  she  seemed  to  be  to 
see  me.  I  remained  here  for  three  weeks,  and  then 
we  went  to  Montreal  tofjether  for  a  visit.  There  I 
made  a  spiritual  retreat.  During  five  days  I  saw  lit- 
tle of  any  one.  While  in  retreat,  you  know,  we  give 
our  time  to  prayer,  fasting,  spiritual  reading  and  re- 
ceiving the  Sacraments.  This  I  did  at  this  particu- 
lar time  to  know  the  Will  of  God  concerning  my  fu- 
ture. After  having  consulted  my  own  heart  I  feared 
to  trust  it.  I  knew  my  own  desires,  but  1  wished  to 
know  w'hether  they  proceeded  from  nature  or  from 
God.  Therefore  I  consulted  those  whom  the  Church 
has  appointed  to  decide  such  matters,  and  my  decis- 
ion is  final.  My  health  is  not  good.  I  have  a  cough, 
and  am  feeble.  Until  I  am  better,  I  must  of  course 
remain  where  I  am."     .... 

After  her  return  from  Canada,  and  the  removal  of 
the  family  to  St.  Albans,  the  health  of  the  two  sisters 
declined  so  rapidly  that  it  was  judged  best  to  take 
them  to  the  sea-shore,  to  try  the  effect  of  sea-bathing. 
It  proved  beneficial  to  Anna,  but  Debbie  could  not 
breathe  the  air  from  the  ocean  with  any  comfort ;  it 
produced  the  most  distressing  cough  and  hoarseness, 
with  great  aggravation  of  the  pain  in  her  side,  which 
hastened  her  return  home. 

Soon  after  she  came  back  she  visited  me.  I  wa^ 
about  to  go  to  New  York,  and  she  requested  me  to 
see  the  Superior  of  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  (with  whom 
I  became  acquainted  some  years  before,)  and  ascer- 
tain the  conditions  of  entrance  into  the  Order  and 
Convent.  Her  earnest,  yet  half-abashed  manner 
when  she  made  the  request,  the  glowing  fervor  with 
^^  iiich  she  assured  me  that  her  desire  to  consecrate 
her  young  life  to  God,  was  not  a  mere  sentiment  or 


1* ., 


1    il'V 


» . '. 


IGO 


TlIK    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


^  R      " 
it.-'  '^'  ^       1 


\^'    {4      , 


K 


transient  feeling,  Lut  the  settled  aim  and  sum  of  her 
aspirations,  are  before  me  now.  It  was  early  in  Oc- 
tober. By  a  higher  vocation  was  her  desire  consum- 
mated on  the  ninth  of  April  following,  when  our 
sweet  sister  "  fell  asleep  in  Jesus  !" 

When  I  was  at  New  York,  Mother  Agnes  was 
alarmingly  ill,  and  1  could  not  perform  my  errand. 
Before  I  saw  Debbie  agahi,  she  hnd  been  attach'^d 
with  severe  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  and  when  I  told 
her  of  my  non-fulfillment  of  her  commission,  she  said 
serenely,  "  It  is  just  as  well  so."  She  had  mean- 
time, however,  obtained  the  desired  information  from 
another  source,  but  knew  she  could  never  avail  her- 
self of  it.  While  I  was  gone  to  New  York  she 
wrote  to  St,  Eustache. 

"St.  Albans,  Qctorer  12,  1859." — [After  speak- 
ing of  their  excursion  to  the  sea-shore,  its  effects  up- 
on them  both,  her  own  improvement  after  her  return 
home,  and  that  Anna  had  now  returned  much  hene- 
fitted  by  sea-bathing,  she  adds :]  "  I  ride  about  con- 
stantly, as  they  think  exercise  in  the  open  air  may 
relieve  me.  I  think  I  may  get  better;  but  probabil- 
ities are  against  me.  I  say  aga'nst  me — I  mean  my 
recovery.  Not  that  I  fear  death  as  a  misfortune,  far 
from  it !  Though  it  will  be  a  disappointment  not  to 
"be  able  to  consecrate  myself,  body  and  soul  to  the  ser- 
vice of  God  in  this  life,  still  His  will  be  done !  *  Wheth- 
er in  life  or  in  death,  we  are  the  Lord's.'  It  will  be 
all  the  same 

"  Our  homo  is  elegant — furnished  by  the  kind  so- 
licitude of  my  father,  with  every  comfort  and  luxury. 
But  there  is  nothing  in  v  orldly  advantages  and  de- 
lights, that  can  satisfy  tlic  cravings  of  the  immortal 
soul."     .... 

She  writes  again  to  the  same  friend,  October  20th, 
in  cheerful  submission  to  the  decision  which  had 
now  been  made  known  to  her  by  the  hemorrhage  of 
the  lungs  before  alluded  to,  and  from  which  she  was 
just  so  far  recovovod  as  to  be  able  to  write.  She 
speaks  of  it  a>s  a  painful  surprise  to  her  friends,  but 
by  no  means  unexpected  by  herself;    that  she  hud 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


IGl 


been  confident  for  some  time  that  ^er  lungs  were  Jis- 
cascd,  anil  adds :  "  Anna  is  also  quite  sick  just  now 
— a  severe  cold  at  fir?t,  followed  by  derangement  of 
the  stomach  and  bowels,  and  extreme  debility.  I  in- 
sisted, laughingly,  that  she  was  sick  to  escape  wait- 
ing upon  me — she  having  been  taken  down  the  day 
after  my  sudden  attack.  I  feel  very  lonely,  without 
the  privileges  of  attending  Mass  and  visiting  the 
Blessed  Sacrament."     .... 

"  October  'IWi, — A  year  ago  to-day  Helen  died  ! 
The  time  seems  so  short  that  I  can  hardlv  realize  it. 
....  I  have  just  come  home  from  Mass  which  was 
offered  for  her  to-day,  and  am  seated  in  my  room 
ajone.  I  have  taken  my  pen  that  my  reflections  may 
not  be  too  sad.  I  shall  not  be  long  behind  her,  I 
think,  and  the  thought  is  not  unpleasant.  If  I  were 
only  like  her — so  well  prepared,  I  should  see  no  rea- 
son for  regret ;  as  it  is,  I  have  only  to  endeavor  to 
put  myself  in  readiness  for  that  hour.  Consumption 
gives  time  enough  in  which  to  prepare  to  die — anoth- 
er of  God's  mercies!  My  friends  in  Burlington  are 
very  kind  to  me."      .... 

I  select  the  following  from  a  fragment  of  the  last 
letter  to  her  friend  L — e,  with  which  I  am  furnished  : 

"As  for  myself  I  am  getting  to  dislike  writing, 
from  the  fact,  that,  on  looking  over  my  letters,  I  find 
so  much  of  self,  so  much  of  my  own  aches  and  pains, 
that  I  am  often  ashamed  to  scud  them.  You  know 
an  invalid's  letter  is  usually  so.  One  is  so  apt  to 
think  of  self,  when  there  is  every  hour  some  proof  of 
disease  about  them :  and,  if  they  do  not  complain, 
their  ails  form  the  subject  of  some  of  their  conversa- 
tion. I  need  not  say  this  to  you,  for  I  know  you 
wish  to  hear  just  how  I  am,  and  would  feel  hurt  if  I 
did  not  toll  you. 

"  You  feared  I  was  ovor-alarmed  about  myself, 
when  I  last  wiote.  1  did  think  there  was  serious 
difliculty  about  my  lungs,  and  I  was  right.  The  day 
after  I  wrote  I  had  a  turn  of  raising  blood.  It  re- 
duced'* mo  a  good  deal,  and  since  that  I  have  been 
very  weak.      I  have  had  returns  of  the  same  twice. 


j:l; 


,\A 


!)• 


liN 


u  ^ 


% 


■     I 


162 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


<   ■ 


'/t  It' 


I'* 


•m' 


\i:. 


^,%: 


.5'- 


My  cougli  is  very  Bad — appetite  poor — and  I  am  los- 
ing flesh.  Have  chills  and  fever,  with  other  symp- 
toms common  in  consumption 

"  I  am  not  one  who  can  easily  be  deceived,  and 
I  look  forward  but  to  a  short  life.  Shall  I  say 
with  sorrow  ?  No  !  it  affects  me  little.  I  could  wish 
to  be  better  prepared;  but  a  long  life  does  not  al- 
ways bring  with  it  perseverance  in  virtue  ;  and  often- 
times persons  are  more  fit  to  die  in  the  beginning  of 
their  Christian  life,  than  after  they  have  spent  a  long 
time  in  it.  The  will  of  our  Divine  Lord  is  dearer,  al- 
so, to  me,  than  anything  in  this  poor  world.  I  would 
wish  to  live  only  to  consecrate  myself,  body  and  soul, 
to  His  service,  and  if  I  please  Him  better  by  suffer- 
ing and  dying  young,  it  is  all  the  same.  '  In  life  or 
in  death  we  are  the  Lord's.' 

"  I  wish  you  were  near  me  that  I  might  see  you 
sometimes.  I  go  out  still — ride  ever}'  pleasant  day, 
and  visit  some.  I  can  walk  but  little.  I  have  prom- 
ised to  visit  Burlington  soon,  if  I  am  able.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Hoyt  came  to  see  me  a  few  days  sin«;e,  and  they 
made  me  promise  I  would  go 

"  Anna  has  been  very  sick  with  congestion  of  the 
lungs.  She  is  just  recovering,  but  is  in  a  bad  state. 
We  are  very  fearful  for  her  health. 

"  Now  I  must  bring  my  letter  to  a  close.  I  hope 
you  will  pardon  the  style  of  it.  I  have  to  write  with 
my  paper  on  my  knee,  or  any  way  that  is  easiest. — 

Write  me  soon  and  often Try  and  enjoy 

yourself,  and  look  upon  things  in  the  best  light  pos- 
sible.   You  know, '  everv  cloud  has  its  silver  lining.'  " 

[To  SL  EusUiche] 

"St.  Aliuns,  Nov.  24Tir My  own  health 

continues  about  the  same.  Anna  is  worse  than  T  am 
now.  I  am  fearful  she  is  not  going  to  be  any  better 
either.  We  are  very  anxious  about  her,  and  our 
physician,  also.  She  docs  not  leave  her  room,  and 
having  a  very  delicate  constitution,  the  disease  she 
has  had  has  nearly  proved  fatal.  We  now  fear  quick 
consumption.  The  doctors  say  there  must  be  a  change 
soon  or  she  will  not  be  with  us  long.     I  have  almost 


fii 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


163 


forgotten  my  own  troubles  in  my  anxiety  for  tlie 
poor  child.  She  is  good  and  patient  as  you  ever  saw 
any  one.  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  do  for  her  as  I 
did  for  Helen;  in  fact,  I  am  but  just  able  to  wait  on 

myself.      My  heart,  however,  is  very  light : 

sickness  does  not  make  me  sad.  I  should  pity  my- 
self if  it  did  !  ....  She  was  prevented  from  fin- 
ishing this  letter  for  some  days,  and  then  adds : 

"  Anna  continues  about  the  same.  My  Uncle 
Pierce*  is  now  here.  Ho  thinks  her  case  appears  al- 
most hopeless.  So  continue  our  trials;  I  shall  prob- 
ably live  to  see  her  die  also.  '  Only  going  a  little 
before,'  as  our  beloved  Helen  said,  a  few  days  before 

her  death The  real  pain  of  sickness  consists 

in  our  privations  in  Holy  things.  No  Mass  !  Com- 
munions but  seldom.  No  visits  to  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment."           About  this  time  Mr.  Hoyt's  two 

oldest  daughters  came  to  St.  Albans  for  a  visit  of  a 
few  days,  a  portion  of  which  they  passed  in  their  for- 
mer home  with  Debbie's  younger  sisters.  She  expect- 
ed to  accompany  them  when  they  returned  to  Burling- 
ton. Anna  became  suddenly  worse  and  she  could  not 
go.     She  wrote  bv  them  to  Mrs.  Hovt. 

"  St  Albans,  Nov.  30Tir,  1859— My  Dear  Mrs. 
Hoyt — A — and  M —  are  leaving  for  home  to-day,  and 
I  intended,  when  they  came,  to  have  gone  with  then?; 
but  it  has  been  ordered  otherwise.  Probably  you 
hoard  from  Mrs.  Hunt  of  Anna's  low  condition.  Since 
Sunday  she  has  seemed  to  fail  rapidl}',  and  we  have 
now  little  or  no  grounds  for  hoping  she  will  ever  be 
any  better.  Her  symptoms  are  all  bad — not  one  in 
her  favor.  Her  limbs  are  badly  swollen,  and,  in  fact 
her  body  seems  to  be  most  of  the  time.  Monday  after- 
noon we  thought  it  safest  and  best  for  her  to  receive 

the  last  sacraments,  as  Father  C was  leaving  for 

liis  missions,  and  would  be  absent  until  Saturday. 
"We  had  been  told  by  her  physicians  that,  should  we 
see  certain  symptoms,  we  might  be  alarmed  and  look 
far  a  speedy  termination  of  all  her  troubles.     They 


.t'.<   <\ 


1' 


A  Physician. 


=.  "t' 


164 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


Jit 


•r 


G?  .; 


I-  <., 


i' 


I-.  .s 


appearofl,  for  the  first  time,  Monday  morning.  I  sup- 
pose, if  therft  is  no  change,  she  can  last  but  a  short 
time.  She  is  perfectly  conscious  of  her  situation,  and 
as  cheerful  as  ever  our  dear  Helen  was ;  though  she 
did  not  expect  so  soon  to  be  called.  When  I  tokl  her 
the  opinion  which  had  been  expressed  with  regard  to 
her,  the  intelligence  was  received  without  a  sign  of 
emotion.  She  answered  me  thus  :  'I  did  not  expect 
it  so  soon;  but  it  is  all  the  same.'  It  is  rather  sud- 
den to  us  all,  though  her  health  has  been  poor  for  a 
good  w^hile. 

''It  seems  to  our  father  and  mother  that  they  are 
losing  their  family  as  soon  as  the  Catholic  Church 
receives  them,  and  the  former  often  expresses  himself 
to  that  effect.  He  cannot  see  these  afiiictions  in  any 
other  lio;ht.  Anna  had  miserable  health  lono;  aj^o 
Four  years  to-day,  you  may  remember,  I  do  not  forget 
it  certainly.  I  have  reason  to  be  cheerful  this  morn- 
ing even  in  a  sad  house.  It  is  the  anniversary  of 
my  baptism,  and  Anna's  too.  It  is  just  a  year  since 
she  was  received  into  the  Church.  We  are  neither 
of  us  too  down-hearted  to-day,  I  assure  you,  though 
somewhat  disappointed  in  our  plans.  We  had  inten- 
ded to  spend  the  feast  rather  dilTerently.  Do  not  for- 
get to  pray  for  lis I  would  like  to  see  you  so 

much.    A will  tell  you  all.     We  were  delighted 

to  see  the  girls,  and  hope  they  have  enjoyed  them- 
selves. They  have  been  here  but  little —  I  wish  they 
had  been  more,  for  it  seemed  such  a  pleasure  to  Anna, 
She  is  able  to  see  all  her  friends."      .... 

"  Her  next  letter  to  lier  beloved  friend  at  St.  Ihi- 
stachc  was  written  with  a  pencil.  She  was  unable 
to  hold  a  pen. 

"St.  Albans,  Jan.  4tii,  1800 — Wednesday  Morn- 

TNC! You  think  strange,  I  am  sure,  that  I 

have  been  so  long  without  writing  to  you  ;  but  I 
have  not  been  able,  and  am  not  now.  I  was  very 
weak  when  I  received  your  last  letter,  and  in  a  few 
days  I  went  to  Burlington.  I  remained  three  weeks 
at  Mr.  Hoyt's.  I  received  every  care  and  attention 
that  could  be  given  to  any  one,  but  continued  to  fail 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


165 


every  day.  I  came  liome  last  week,  and  am  now  so 
feeble  as  hardly  to  leave  my  room  at  all.  I  have  been 
trying  every  day  to  write  you  a  few  lines  with  a  pencil, 
but  could  not;  my  strength  was  not  sufficient.  I  will 
not  write  long  to-day.  As  I  am  writing  of  myself,  I 
will  tell  you  just  how  I  um,  and  it  may  make  the  bur- 
then of  my  letter.  I  do  not  suffer  much  from  acute 
pain,  but  a  great  deal  from  impeded  breath,  severe 
coughing,  and  extreme  weakness.  They  say  my  face 
docs  not  change  much  ;  but  my  voice  you  would  not 
know.  I  can  hardly  speak  above  a  whisper.  You  see  1 
am  really  wearing  away,  slowly,  perhaps,  but  surely. 
I  know  your  next  question  will  be  :  'iVnd  how  do  you 
feel  about  it?'  I  enjoy  myself  well,  my  dear  Tanto 
St.  A,  and  sometimes  I  think  I  am  happier  than  ever 
before.  Of  course,  the  thoughts  of  death  brine:  with 
1  hem  many,  very  many  serious  reilections,  but  my  hope 
is  still  alive.  I  have  the  sacraments  within  my  reach 
and  all  that  the  Church  can  give  me,  and  what  more 
can  I  ask?  Though  sometimes  I  wish  for  other  things, 
I  have  no  reason  to  comi)lain.  Anna  is  in  a  room 
not  far  from  me,  and  she,  I  think,  is  gradually  losing 
her  hold  upon  life.  She  seems  drooping  like  a  (lower, 
without  any  apparent  suffering,  and  she  says  she  hard- 
ly knows  what  is  causing  her  to  fail.  "We  enjoy 
ourselves,  I  can  assure  you,  the  little  time  they  leave 
ns  together.  She  is  in  tlie  best  of  spirits  all  the  time 
and  has  been  through  all  her  illness.  She  says  she 
has  been  praying  for  six  months  for  resignation  to 
bear  my  departme,  but  now  she  thinks  the  prospect 
is  that  she  shall  die  first.     It  is  hard  to  tell. 

"I  saw  Sister  C almost  every  day  while  I  was 

in  Burlington,  and  expect  to  see  her  here  on  Friday. 
I  was  able  to  go  to  the  convent  bttt  twice,  and  when 
T  did,  it  was  so  hard  to  leave  that  I  had  l»ettcr  not 
have  gone. 


!  ■ 

'J! 

•  i 

-j 
1 

ii] 

.', 

• 

■!.■ 

.^ 

•  • 

ill  ! 


I 


II. 


"  Wcfhicaday  Evminrf, — T  add  a  few  lines  this  even- 
ing. Since  writing  the  above,  Father  II — luis  made 
ns  quite  a  long  call.  It  is  my  twenty-second  birth- 
day.    I  shall  hardly  see  another.      Vou  niu^^t    pray 


166 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


t    ' 


.'t     . 


hard  for  me,  and  request  the  mins  to  do  the  same." 
Again  she  writes  to  the  same  person : 

"Jan.   IOtii,  1860 I  ara  thankful  I    can 

still  write  you  myself,  instead  of  having  some  one  else 
to  do  it  for  me.  You  will  excuse  its  being  written 
with  a  pencil,  I  know,  and  be  glad,  with  me,  that  the 
letter  is  mv  own  writinir-  Your  letter,  with  its  kind 
messages  and  words  of  love,  has  been  received  and  read 

with  the  greatest  pleasure Continue,  I  beg 

of  you,  to  pray  for  ray  perseverance,  and  in  asking  for 
myself,  of  course  I  include  Anna.  We  continue  about 
the  same  as  when  I  wrote  you  last,  some  days  worse, 
and  others  again  quite  comfortable.  Anna,  I  think 
will  not  last  long;  her  strength  fails  rapidly.  I 
never  saw  any  one  in  better  spirits.  I  spent  an  hour 
in  her  room  last  evening,  and  she  told  me  how  fast 
her  strength  was  going,  and  how  short  a  time  she 
thought  she  would  live,  with  such  a  cheerful  coun- 
tenance, that  I  thought  to  myself,  it  was  no  matter 
how  soon  she  died.  I  do  not  see  so  much  of  Anna 
as  I  could  wish,  for  several  reasons.  One  is,  I  can- 
not bear  the  high  temperature  at  which  her  room  has 
to  be  kept,  and  another,  the  Doctors  say  there  is  too 
much  sympathy  between  us  to  make  it  as  well  for  us 
to  be  together ;  these,  with  other  reasons,  keep  us  a 
good  deal  separate. 

"  You  speak,  my  dear  Tante,  in  your  letter,  of  the 
benefit  of  sufferings  when  united  with  those  of  our 
Divine  Lord.  Truly  this  is  one  of  my  greatest  con- 
solations, to  know  that  not  one  })aiu  or  one  sigh  is 
lost  or  for£»;otten  !  You  know  our  Divine  Saviour  al- 
ways  appeared  more  lovely  to  me  in  His  Passion  than 
elsewhere,  and  it  would  be  strange  now  if  I  were  not 
willing  to  suffer  what  He  sends  me  through  His  love. 
It  is  sometimes  hard.  One  is  almost  tempted  to  wish 
the  pain  and  anguish  away,  but  again,  I  find  it  all 
pleasant  and  easy.  Last  night  I  was  awake  nearly 
the  whole  night  with  my  cough  and  fever ;  but  I  en- 
joyed as  I  would  enjoy  rest.  Those  nights  I  often 
have,  are  the  times  when  I  look  over  the  past,  ex- 
amine the  PRESENT,  and  look  forward  to  the  fitture  / 


u 


•ii^i 


THE  YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


167 


?5 


'G. 
Sll 
ill 

•ly 


X- 


Iri  thinking  of  tlie  past  the  mercies  of  God  formed  a 
great  part  of  my  tlioiiglits  last  evening,  and  to-day 
the  same  thought  is  uppermost  in  my  mind.  I  do 
not  know  that  I  have  ever  realized  so  fully  as  now, 
how  great  and  how  numerous  those  merciei?  have 
been  !  If  I  do  not  find  that  they  have  been  too  dread- 
fully misused  and  abused,  this  is  all  I  fear  ;  but  again, 
'  Ills  mercy  eiidureih  forever  P      .... 

'We  received  Holy  communion  together  yesterday 
morning,  Anna  and  myself.  I  never  expect  to  go  out 
again;  I  thought  I  should  for  a  while  but  the  doctor 
tells  me  he  does  not  think  I  will  live  through  the 
spring  months.  Tell  Sister  J that  I  shall  hard- 
ly see  her  in  May  as  I  promised,  if  I  were  well,  but 
that  I  hope  and  })ray  that  the  Month  devoted  to  our 
sweet  Mother  will  not  pass  without  seeing  her  con- 
secrated to  her  service  forever.  She  must  pray  for 
me.  Tell  l;er  to  ask  tlie  Blessed  Virgin  to  obtain 
for  me  all  the  graces  I  so  much  need  now.     Tell  ma 

Tante,  Sr.  B ,  that  the  picture  she  shall  surely 

have.  I  have  loved  it  much  for  itself,  and  much  for 
the  giver's  sake,  and  would  rather  she  should  have  it 
than  another.  As  for  you.  my  dearest  Tante,  I  do 
not  know  what  to  send  you.  Can  you  not  mention 
something  you  would  like  yourself?  I  am  not  par- 
ticularly attached  to  anything  I  have  that  I  know  of. 
My  crucifix,  my  books,  my  rosaries,  are  all  I  have  that 
you  would  value.  Any  of  them  I  will  send  you.  Now 
my  dear  St.  A — ,  I  must  close  this  letter ;  may  be  it  is 
the  last  I  shall  ever  write  to  you,  prehaps  not;  but  if 
it  should  be,  remember  that  the  heart  grows  ivarmer 
and  fonder  as  life  wanes  and  tvears  away ;  that  if  ever 
I  have  felt  a  deep  affection  for  you  and  for  all  at  the 
Congregation,  it  is  noiv,  and  I  will  cherish  it  always. 
Pray  for  me."      .... 

It  was  indeed  the  last  letter  she  ever  wrote  to  that 
dearly  beloved  friend.  Six  days  later  she  addressed 
a  little  note  to  the  young  friend  and  correspondent  in 
the  South  part  of  the  State,  to  whom  she  had  not  writ- 
ten for  some  months.  It  was  her  last  effort  of  the 
kind,  and    the   faltering,  uneciual  characters   in  her 


1  I' 5 


til:' 


ll<'. 


lii'  11 


ilMl 


jl 


*•    r 


! 


r ' 


1G8 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


"■ij<! 


I 


liandwiiting.  (usually  as  correct,  distinct  and  beauti- 
ful in  its  execution  under  all  circumstances,  as  any 
I  have  ever  seen,)  give  evidence  of  the  difliculty  with 
which  it  was  performed. 

"St.  Albans.  Jan.  25tii,  1858. 

"  Dear :     You  may  be  surprised  to  receive  a 

letter  from  me,  but  I  felt  that  on  the  strength  of  our 
former  correspondence,  I  ought  to  let  you  know  some 
facts  which  may  surprise  you  very  much,  unless  you 
luive  already  heard  through  some  other  source.  Our 
dear  Anna  is  just  going  with  quick  consumption. 
We  look  for  her  death  at  any  time.  She  is  confined 
to  her  bed,  and  has  been  to  her  room,  for  three  months 
She  is  showing  in  her  last  days,  what  the  Catholic 
religion  can  do,  in  preparing  a  soul  for  what  awaits 
us  all.  I  cannot  add  good  news  even  here  for  my- 
self. You  may  be  more  surprised  when  I  tell  you, 
that  /too  am  confined  to  my  room  with  the  same  dis- 
ease, only  that  it  seems  to  make  slower  progress  than 
Anna's  has.  My  cough  has  been  bad  since  last  May, 
and  in  October  I  had  an  attack  of  spitting  blood,  and 
another  in  November.  I  have  not  been  down  stairs 
since  New  Year's  day.  It  is  very  hard  for  me  to 
write,  so  you  must  excuse  the  style,  and  the  short  let- 
ter. I  thought  you  would  like  to  hear  and  I  have 
managed  to  scribble  a  few  lines.  I  am  in  the  best 
of  spirits,  and  am  only  waiting  until  our  dear  Lord 
comes  to  take  me  away.     I*ray  for  us  !     My  love  to 

your  sisters.      . . .  ,,     xYnna  sends  much  love 

Your  true  friend,  Debbie." 

Though  Debbie  did  not  sink  very  rapidly,  yet  were 
her  sufferings  much  more  severe  than  is  usual  in  con- 
sumption. She  had,  during  the  remainder  of  her 
life,  frequent  paroxysms  of  agO)iizing  distress. 

The  same  week  that  the  foregoing  letter  was  writ- 
ten, I  saw  the  sisters  together  for  the  last  time.  Up- 
on entering  Anna's  room  I  expressed  my  agreeable 
surprise  to  find  them  both  there  !  ])ebbie  said  she 
was  there  by  special  invitation.  "  Yes,"  said  Anna, 
I  announced  to  her  yesterday,  that  if  she  would  be 
very  good  she  should  dine  with  me  to-day  ;  so  thi.i 


THE   YOUNG  CONVERTS. 


169 


stairs 
lie  to 
rt  let- 
have 
3  best 
Lord 
)ve  to 


IK 


1) 


were 

.  cou- 

)l'   her 


writ- 


leca 


Up- 
ble 


le 


lid  si 
lAiina, 
liild  be 
thi;: 


mornin<j^  I  sent  my  compliments,  requesting  the  pleas- 
ure of  her  company  at  my  house  to  dinner,"  Just 
at  that  moment  their  mother  came  in  with  a  servant 
carrying  the  salver  upon  which  was  their  dinner. 
Drawing  the  table  to  the  side  of  Anna's  bed,  Debbio 
was  drawn  in  her  chair  to  it,  while  her  mother  arrang- 
ed the  covers  upon  it,  and  the  delicacies  which  sho 
had  prepared  with  her  own  hands,  hoping  to  tempt 
their  appetites.  The  whole  scene  in  that  sick  room, 
it  may  be  readily  imagined,  was  most  affecting,  but 
nothing  went  to  my  heart  like  the  tender  earnestness 
with  which  their  mother  urged  them  to  partake  of 
what  she  had  taken  so  much  pains  to  cook  aud  sea- 
son, as  they  "  used  to  like  it ;"  and  the  expression  of 
disappointed  sadness,  with  which  she  watched  their 
ineffectual  efforts  to  gratify  her  by  complying  with 
her  request.  Anna  inquired  with  affectionate  interest 
after  all  her  young  friends  whom  I  knew,  and  added. 
"  Tell  Mary  "(who  was  absent  at  school),  "  that  sho 
must  write  me  one  of  her  own  cheerful  funnv  letters, 
such  as  she  always  has  :"(they  had  been  correspond- 
ents for  some  time,  and  the  artless  originality  of  Anna's 
letters  had  furnished  us  with  much  amusement,)  ''  she 
need  not  feel  as  if  she  must  be  gloomy  and  sad  because 
I  am  soon  going  away  1"  "  She  does  not  feel  so  on 
your  account,  by  any  means,  my  child,"  I  rei)liod  : 
"  her  grief,  like  that  of  all  your  friends,  is  selfish.  Wc 
think  of  what  wc  are  to  lose,  more  than  of  what  vou 
you  will  gain!"  She  spoke  with  earnest  simplicity 
of  her  feeling  as  death  was  approaching;  of  the  pleas- 
ure she  anticipated  on  meeting  her  beloved  sister,  and 
seemed  to  have  an  impression  that  Helen  would  bo 
permitted  to  conduct  her  soul  as  it  left  this  world,  and 
to  unfold  before  it  the  mysteries  of  another,  as  sho 
and  Debbie  had  instructed  her  here,  in  those  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Christ  upon  earth. 

•'  The  sufferings  of  her  last  sickness  were  not  very 
severe,  except  from  daily  increasing  faintncss  and 
difficulty  of  breatliing,  when  she  was  placed  in  any 
position  that  would  seem  to  be  easy.  This  increased 
t(>  such  a  degree  that  for  many  days  before  her  depart- 


"^9 


'•  II 

Ir.i 


170 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


P;vg 


urc,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  breathe  with  any 
support  whatever  around  her.  She  could  not  even 
permit  a  hand  to  be  applied  to  uphold  her  weary 
head,  but  sat  perfectly  erect,  unsupported  by  pillows 
or  other  appliances,  until  exhausted  nature  yielded. 
The  only  utterance  like  a  complaint  that  ever  passed 
her  lips  was  the  faint  expressioli, '  I  am  so  tired  !'  and 
then  she  would  suiilo  sweetly,  and  reprove  in  herself, 
what  she  called  her  '  impatience.' 

"  On  Friday  afternoon  previous  to  her  death,  Deb- 
bie was  carried  into  her  room  for  the  last  time.  Their 
first  eager  questions  of  each  other  were  to  ascertain 
their  mutual  feelings,  now  that  death  was  so  near  at 
hand.  Having  conversed  together  more  than  an 
hour,  and  assured  themselves  that  all  was  peace  in 
that  respect,  Debbie  proposed  that  they  should  recite 
their  beads  together  once  again,  which  they  did,  with 
such  a  degree  of  fervor  as  befitted  the  time  and  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  with  the  serenity  and  recollection  of 
spirits  lingering  upon  the  confines  of  time,  perfectly 
prepared  to  pass  them,  at  any  moment,  into  eternity. 
It  was  one  of  th  emost  impressive  scenes  that  was 
ever  presented  in  a  chamber  of  death,  and  overpow- 
ing,  in  its  beautiful  pathos,  to  all  who  witnessed  it. — 
At  the  close  of  the  holy  exercise,  they  smilingly  and 
lovingly  kissed,  and  parted*  As  the  affectionate 
*  Good  bye  !'  was  exchanged,  Debbie  remarked,  '  We 
shall  meet  again  so  soon,  dearest,  that  we  shall  hard- 
ly know  we  have  been  separated  at  all !'  and  was  car- 
ried back  to  her  room.  A  cheerful,  tearless  parting 
between  two  angelic  spirits,  the  tearful  sighs  of  poor 
humanity  floating  unnoticed  around  them  the  while  ! 
From  Saturday  morning,  the  tenth  of  March,  at  nine 
o'clock,  when  a  change  took  place  which  she  suppos- 
ed was  the  final  one,  until  she  ceased  to  breathe, 
twenty-four  hours  later,  an  expression  of  glowing  rap- 
ture settled  upon  Anna's  face,  which  never  left  it, 
and  was  the  most  perfect  illustration  of  the  idea  con- 
veyed in  the  term  *  Seraphic,''  of  anything  I  ever  be- 
held. The  last  change,  when  it  really  came,  was  but 
momentary,  but  perfectly  understood  by  her.     Cast- 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


171 


lile! 


pos- 
Itlie, 

ap- 
it, 
3on- 

be- 
Ibut 

ast- 


ing  a  parting  look  of  smiling  love  for  a  moment,  up- 
on each  person  in  the  room,  she  bowed  her  head,  and 
was  gone  !  Not  the  slightest  struggle,  not  even  the 
([uiver  of  a  muscle,  betrayed  the  moment  when  that 
pure  spirit  took  its  (light ! 

"And  Anna  was  with  Helen  1  How  wc  longed  to 
look  '  beyond  the  veil,'  and  witness  that  meeting  !  It 
seemed  as  if  Debbie  did  sec  it,  for  her  spirit  was  too 
absorbed  in  its  ji^ys  to  be  shaded  by  one  regret. — 
Though  Anna's  plans  for  this  world  were  so  arranged 
as  to  ojjcn  every  prospect  of  happiness  to  her  future, 
which  her  young  heart  could  desire,  yet  she  accepted 
the  call  to  another  in  the  same  spirit  of  joyous  resig- 
nation with  which  her  sisters  received  it;  the  only 
cloud  that  obscured  its  brightness  for  a  moment  be- 
ing the  thought  that  the  destiny  of  another  would  bo 
overshadowed  by  her  early  departure. 

"  The  funeral  services  were  performed  by  the  Pas- 
tor of  St.  Albans.  Our  Right  Rev.  Bishop  went  the 
day  before  to  that  place,  intending  to  ofiiciate  upon 
the  occasion,  but  he  was  taken  very  ill  the  previous 
night,  and  was  c(>nsef|uently  unable  to  fulfill  that  iu' 
tention." 


i. 


If: 


172 


B»   >•  , 


'Jr.     •  . 


[rv  ■■} 


CHAPTEK   IX. 


» , 


f   • 


I ' 


'  Hi  ■ 


The  last  weeks  of  Debbie's  life  were  attended  In' 
severe  and  constantly  increasing  suffering.  She 
could  not  lie  down  at  all,  or  even  recline  in  her  chair. 
Her  head  was  bowed  down,  (as  if  to  assimilate  her 
entirely  to  her  Divine  Master  in  every  circumstance 
of  Plis  Passion  and  Death,  which  had  so  long  formed 
the  dearest  theme  of  all  her  meditations  and  devo- 
tions,) and  drawn  by  contraction  of  the  muscles  to- 
wards the  left  side,  until  her  face  conld  be  seen  only 
by  kneeling  very  low  at  her  right  side,  and  looking 
np  into  it !  Ilcr  voice  was  so  entirely  gone  that  her 
words  were  uttered  in  a  faint  whfeper.  But  those 
"  Angel  whisperings,"  will  they  ever  be  forgotten  by 
those  who  listened  to  them  ?  Early  in  Holy  week  it 
was  tliought  that  she  was  dying.  At  her  request  the 
fact  was  communicated  to  her  beloved  Tante,  St. 
A — ,  now  at  Montreal.  Many  messages  of  love  went 
with  it,  from  her  to  that  "  best  friend  who,"  to  use 
her  own  language,  "  loved  my  soul  because  Jesus 
Christ  died  to  save  it ;  who  cared  for  it,  prayed  for 
it,  before  I  had  learned  to  care  for  it  myself  or  appre- 
ciate its  value."  She  also  sent  loving  messages  to 
the  whole  community,  requesting  their  prayers  for 
the  soul  of  their  departing  child,  and  expressing  the 
joy  it  would  have  givejj  her  to  see  her  dear  Tante 
once  again.  The  Mother  Superior  immediately  tele- 
graphed to  know  if  it  would  be  any  comfort  to  her  to 
have  St.  A come  to  her  ?  A  reply  in  the  affirm- 
ative was  despatched,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  after  its 
receipt,  that  Sister,  accompanied  by  another,  was  on 
her  way  to  St.  Albans,  to  attend  the  last  hours  of  her 


THE    YOUNG    CONVEUTS. 


173 


(lailin<T  child  ;  a  lilossing  as  nnoxpectod  by  DcLbie  aa 
it  was  unprccedciitod,  none  of  tlio  Order  liaving  ever 
left  the  Convent  before  upon  such  an  errand,  their  voca- 
tion bein<T  sinij)ly  to  teacli.  Debbie  could  not  express 
lier  f^ratitude  i'or  the  favor.  It  was  an  iinspeakablo 
comfort  to  her  to  see  her  dear  Tante,  who  was  entire- 
ly overcome  to  find  her  child  thus,  sufferin<r  so  much 
more  than  she  had  expected !  She  knelt  by  her  side 
and  wept  bitterly,  while,  in  faint  whispers,  such  ex- 
pressions ast  hcsc  were  breathed  into  her  car  :  "  Is  it 
})Ossiblo   my  own  eyes  see  once  again  in  this  workl, 

my  sweet  Tante  St.  A ,  *tii07i  ange^  mon  oiseau 

gris  ?"  (a  name  she  had  given  her,  in  the  happy  days 
at  St.  Eustache,  because  her  complexion  was  slightly 
freckled,)  and  many  other  terms  of  endearment,  which 
I  cannot  now  recall,  by  which  it  had  been  her  custom 
to  address  her  beloved  friend. 

ThQ  Sisters  liad  permission  to  stay  two  days,  at  tlio 
close  of  which,  on  Good  Friday  morning,  they  reluct- 
antly left  her,  under  the  strong  impression  that  she 
would  not  live  through  that  day. 

Soon  after  they  left,  a  singular  change,  nnusual  in 
consumption,  took  place.  Dropsical  symptoms  super- 
vened (at  the  period  when  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances dissolution  would  have  closed  her  sufferings), 
attended,  of  course,  with  distressing  swelling  of  the 
limbs  and  body,  and  causing  a  partial  diversion  of  the 
disease  from  the  lungs,  which  arrested  its  progress 
there,  without  relieving  the  suffocating  pressure  upon 
them.  She  lingered  thus,  in  those  fearful  pangs 
which  usually  belong  only  to  the  last  hour,  until  her 
departure  on  the  morning  of  Easter  Monday,  April 
ninth,  at  seven  o'clock.  I  was  so  favored  as  to  bo 
with  her  from  the  afternoon  of  Good  Friday,  until 
her  dear  form  was  prepared  for  its  last  resting  place. 
Though  her  mind  wavered  slightly  at  intervals,  yet 
she  was  at  any  time  (save  in  one  instance  to  be  men- 
tioned hereafter)  easily  drawn  to  understand  clearly 
to  the  very  last,  every  circumstance  of  her  own  situa- 


My  Augol!  my  Gray-bird! 


174 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEItTS. 


.'•vf! 


•;    1 


tion  and  of  every  thing  around  lior.  She  frequently 
desired  me  to  read  the  prayers  tor  the  departing,  the 
Litany  of  tlie  Blessed  Virgin,  portions  of  psalms,  and 
such  other  devotions  from  time  to  time,  as  her 
strength  would  permit  her  to  join  in — which  she  did 
in  the  midst  of  her  agonies,  with  the  most  edn^ino' 
fervor.  Not  the  least  interesting  part  of  a  scene 
wliich,  though  harrowing  as  to  its  anguish,  was  still 
glorious  in  its  triumphs,  was  the  course  her  pure 
thoughts  took,  even  in  their  wanderings.  She  was 
ever  in  some  holy  place,  hcfore  the  altars  she  loved  so 
well,  pouring  forth  her  fervent  prayers;  or  in  the 
company  of  the  Reverend  Clergy,  or  pious  nuns,  of- 
fering them  fruits  and  refreshments ;  sometimes  she 
was  busy  in  preparing  clothing  for  the  poor,  minis- 
tering to  their  wants,  and  expressing  the  deepest  love 
for  them  and  sympathy  in  their  sufferings.  Her  per- 
fect conformity  to  the  will  of  God  remained  serenely 
firm  to  her  last  breath,  and  she  repeatedly  called  up- 
on us  to  pray,  not  that  she  might  have  one  pain  less, 
not  for  the  slightest  diminution  of  her  anguish,  but, 
"  0,  for  a  great  deal  more  patience  /"  We  could  not 
conceive  how  more  could  be  added  to  a  patience  al- 
ready so  perfect!  She  was  constantly  kissing  the 
crucifix,  and  breathing  utterances  of  devoted  love  for 
her  dying  Redeemer ;  calling  uj^on  us  all  to  love  Him 
for  her,  and  to  draw  the  love  of  all  hearts  to  Him,  to 
compensate  for  the  imperfections  of  her  love.  She 
also  told  us  again  and  again,  to  bo  sure  not  to  speak 
of  her,  when  she  was  gone,  as  a  glorified  saint,  or  as 


rejoicing  with  the  Just,  "  for,"  said  she,  "  when  you 
speak  of  me  in  that  way,  it  is  because  you  do  not 
know  my  faults,  my  exceeding  sinfulness,  and  if  you 
allow  yourselves  to  do  it,  you  will  forget  to  pray  for 
me  !  I  want  to  entreat  you  to  remember,  that  I  shall 
need  your  prayers,  and  that  if  I  am  so  happy  as  to 
gain  a  place  in  purgatory,  it  is  all  I  can  expect. !" 
She  often  said,  "  Now  I  know  what  a  blessed  thing  it 
is  to  die  a  Catholic  !  I  never  before  realized  it  as  1 
do  now  !  0,  why  was  /so  favored  as  to  be  made""a 
child  of  the  Church,  when   so   many  who   seem  so 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


175 


he 


)a 


)U 

\or 
ill 

Ito 

ll" 

it 


ISO 


much  more  worthy,  are  left  to  perish  outside  of  the 
One  Fold  whose  Shepherd  is  our  Great  Redeemer  !" 
It  would  fill  pages,  were  I  to  record  the  sweet  ex- 
pressions of  gratitude,  piety,  and  resignation,  which 
were  constantly  falling  from  lier  lips,  and  all  with 
such  childlike  simplicity  and  entire  absence,  most  ev- 
idently, of  any  motive  save  the  glory  of  God,  that  no 
one  could  hear  them  unmoved.  Her  physician 
(whose  attendance  was  most  devoted  and  kind),  though 
differing  from  her  in  religion,  was  often  deeply  affect- 
ed by  the  beauty  of  her  character,  and  the  spirit  in 
which  she  endured  her  almost  lu-rrecedented  suffer- 


mgs, 


On  the  morning  of  Easter  Sunday,  before  the  gas- 
lights were  extinguished  in  her  room,  and  when  the 
first  rays  of  light  began  to  appear,  though  they  were 
still  so  faint  that  no  one  in  the  room  had  noticed 
them  (her  chair  being  so  placed  that  she  faced  the 
East),  she  whispered  to  me,  "  It  is  the  dawn  of  the 
day  on  the  morning  of  the  Resurrection  !"  then  smi- 
ling sweetly  she  added,  "  The  women  were  very  early 
at  the  Sepulchre,  but  the  men  were  not  there,  and 
the  women  were  the  Jirst  to  believe  in  His  Resurrec- 
tion !"  At  seven  o'clock  that  morning  we  thought 
she  was  going,  the  family  were  called  in,  and  she 
took  an  affectionate  leave  of  each  one.  She  then  re- 
quested me  to  say  "  We  fly  to  thy  patronage,"  etc., 
and  the  Litany  :  f  the  Blessed  Virgin,  which  I  did, 
feeling  that  it  waj  the  last  time  that  her  pure  spirit 
would  be  '.mic^d  with  ours  in  pious  supplications  this 
side  of  eternity.  She  joined  with  great  fervor  ;  and 
although  we  united  in  prayers  for  her  several  times 
after  that,  when  she  \^as  conscious  that  we  were  doing 
so,  she  was  too  much  exhausted  to  join  us  outwardly. 
She  hoped  to  depart  on  Easter  Sunday,  and  we  had 
repeatedly  assured  her  that  we  thought  she  would  be 
permitted  to,  but  the  hours  p'assed  on,  an  '  ;he  was  still 
lingering  in  the  very  embrace  of  death.  Late  in  the 
evening  she  looked  at  me,  while  such  a  mournful 
shade  flitted  over  her  dear  features  as  I  can  never 
forget,  and  sobbed  in  shuddering  agony  rather  than 


p' 


176 


THE    YOUNG    CONVERTS. 


■ » '.  ■' 


.  ■   I 
■    •   I  • ' 


littered  in  words,  "  It  seems  as  if  our  dear  Lord  loves 
to  see  me  suffer  with  Him  !"  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment the  shade  vanished,  and  a  rapturous  smile  glow- 
ed upon  her  countenance,  as  she  kissed  the  crucifix, 
ever  in  her  hand,  and  breathed,  *'  Blessed  forever  be 
His  holy  will !"  I  exhorted  her  to  offer  every  pain 
she  endured,  in  union  with  the  sufferings  of  her  Re- 
deemer, to  procure  the  conversion  of  those  for  whom 
she,  and  her  sweet  sisters,  had  been  praying  so  long. 
She  replied  eagerly,  *'  I  do  all  the  time ;  I  am  offer- 
ing them,  and  I  am  willing  to  suffer  everything^  if  I 
can  only  gain  that  treasure  for  them  !" 

Her  mother  had  remained  with  unflinching  forti- 
tude and  constancy  by  her  side  through  all  those 
weary  days  !  By  night  and  by  day  had  her  gentle 
ministrations  been  exercised  with  untiring  firmness, 
and  while  the  cheerful  patience,  the  resignation,  and 
piety  of  her  daughter,  were  matters  of  wonder  to  her, 
as  to  all  who  witnessed  them,  the  calm  endurance  of 
that  mother,  under  all  the  crushing  sorrows  of  the 
scene,  was  a  still  greater  surprise  to  me.  I  expressed 
it  to  her,  and  she  said,  "  My  daughters  have  prepared 
me  for  it ;  they  have  fortified  me  by  their  counsels, 
and  have  obtained  support  for  me  by  their  prayers  !" 
adding,  that  she  was  surprised  at  herself,  when  she 
thought  how  impossible  it  would  once  have  been  for 
her,  even  to  have  contemplated  without  entire  dis- 
may, the  scenes  through  which  she  was  now  passing 
so  calmly,  Debbie  could  not  bear  to  have  her  out 
of  her  sight ;  though  she  was  fearful  lest  her  health 
might  suffer  from  such  constant  attendance,  yet  her 
presence  was  a  comfort  she  needed  so  much,  that  she 
could  not  bring  herself  to  dispense  with  it.  The  last 
night,  however,  she  noticed  that  her  mother  was 
much  exhausted,  and  insisted  that  she  should  go  to 
licr  own  room  and  takf  some  rest,  quieting  her  fears 
about  leaving  her,  with  tender  assurances  that  she 
should  be  very  comfortable,  and  would  send  for  her 
if  she  was  not.  She  then  made  her  own  arrange- 
ments as  to  the  attendants  who  should  remain  in  her 
room,  two  tender  and  faithful  Catholic  nurses,  one  of 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


177 


whom  had  been  with  the  sisters  through  tlie  winter, 
and  tlie  other  for  some  weeks ;  while  her  father  and 
myself  remained  just  outside  the  door  of  her  apart- 
ment, to  be  ready  at  any  moment  if  needed.  8he 
made  every  effort  to  be  quiet  and  contented,  but  ex- 
hausted nature  wavered  when  the  arm  of  the  mother 
was  withdrawn,  and  her  mind  became  for  the  first 
time  so  comiilctely  bewildered  that  we  could  not 
soothe  or  pacify  her.  The  presence  of  her  mother 
again  seemed  to  compose  her  at  once.  Those  who 
were  present  will  each  remember,  I  am  sure,  to  their 
dying  day,  the  expression  of  her  countenance  when 
her  mother  reappeared,  and  the  loving  epithets  with 
which  she  addressed  her  !  I  never  saw  any  manifes- 
tations more  touchino-  and  affectionate  than  those  she 
constantly  showed  for  her  parents.  She  had  often  as- 
sured me  when  she  was  in  health,  that  the  only  real 
and  bitter  trial  of  her  life  as  a  Catholic,  had  been, 
that  her  convictions  of  duty  required  her  so  to  act  as 
to  give  her  parents  pain. 

About  twenty  minutes  before  she  ceased  to  breathe, 
she  desired  to  be  laid  on  the  bed  quickly,  which  was 
done.  Just  after  she  was  there  she  was  wrung  with 
a  sharp  agony,  and  the  crucitix  slipped  from  her 
hand,  at  the  same  time  that  we  thought  she  had 
breathed  her  last,  but  the  next  moment  she  gasped 
for  breath,  and  threw  out  her  right  hand  as  if  seeking 
for  something.  The  Crucifix  was  placed  in  it,  and 
her  last  effort  was  to  clasp  it  to  her  heart,  and  I 
heard  her  utter  the  names,  Jesus !  Mary  !  Joseph  ! 
with  that  last  breath  which  followed  the  effort. 
There  were  six  Catholics  kneeling  at  the  foot  of  her 
bed,  and  praying  for  her.  For  some  minutes  after 
she  ceased  to  breathe,  the  silence  was  so  deep  in  that 
apartment  of  death,  that  we  dared  not  disturb  it  even 
with  our  sobbings — the  indulgence  of  even  the  most 
sacred  emotions  of  poor  humanity  seemed  to  us  like 
irreverence  in  sueli  a  presence.  At  length  the  heart- 
stricken  mother  said  gently  and  calmly,  with  uplifted 
eyes,  "  Another  treasure  (jone  before  f  Her  last  words 
to  mo  were,  '  Mother,  you  mnnt  be  submissive  !'  and 


»i»"wr  <ii *ww*— m^i 


if:'' 


178 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


r'-"*'' 


■    •  1 '.' 


.i^^'-' 


■'^, 


I  will  try  to  be ;  but  how  can  I  live  without  my  daugh- 
ters /" 

For  the  rest  of  us,  we  felt  that  we  had  accompa- 
nied a  youthful  saint  to  the  Gates  of  Paradise,  and 
that  glimpses  of  that  "  promised  land"  had  been  re- 
vealed to  us  through  the  opened  portals,  as  she  pass- 
ed them  to  her  rest !  May  we  ever  remember  those 
glimpses  !  Four  weeks  and  one  day  after  Anna's  de- 
parture, Debbie  also  withdrew  to  join  the  two  sisters 
whose  souls  she  had  first  led  to  consider  the  things 
which  pertained  to  their  salvation  and  peace,  and  tlie 
three  now  sleep  side  by  side  in  the  village  cemetery. 

Requiem  ajternam  dona  eis  Domiiie ! 
Et  lux  perpetua  luceat  eis ! 

The  Bishop  of  Burlington  performed  the  funeral 
services  at  the  church,  and  delivered  a  most  affecting 
and  appropriate  discourse,  embodying  many  of  the 
details  which  I  have  endeavored,  though  with  imper- 
fect success,  to  record. 

The  Pastor  of  Fairfield  officiated  at  the  grave,  and 
consigned  the  mortal  remains  of  his  spiritual  child, 
"Ashes  unto  ashes,  dust  unto  dust!"  in  the  hope  of 
a  glorious  resurrection.  To  him  I  am  much  indebt- 
ed for  encouragement  and  aid  in  the  prosecution  of 
my  task  :  speaking  of  which,  in  a  letter  to  me,  he 
says  :  "  I  need  not  assure  you  that  it  gave  me  the 
greatest  satisfaction  to  know  that  you  were  writing  a 
sketch  of  the  edifying  lives  of  my  children  (I  love  to 
call  them  such),  for  I  was  thf'r  confidential  friend*, 
besides  being  their  confessor  and  guide,  according  to 
the  little  light  which  it  has  pleased  God  to  give  me. 
....      The  dates  of  their  baptism  I   suppose  you 

have For  the  rest,  I  do  not  think  the  task 

will  be  a  hard  one  to  write  their  lives,  with  the  assist- 
ance conveyed  through  the  spirit  which  pervades  tlieir 
simple  and  sincere  writings ;  the  last  one  especially. 
Do  not  fear  to  say  that  her  heart  was  the  very  sanc- 
tuary of  purity  and  innocence  !  Above  all,  write  my 
testimony  as  to  her  love  for  our  Divine  Lord  in  II is 
adorable  Sacrament.     There  was  scarcely  a  dav  that 


THE   YOUNG   CONVERTS. 


179 


e  to 

end", 

f  to 

mo. 

on 

task 

sist- 

lieir 

ally. 

tinc- 

my 

HiH 

that 


she  did  not  spend  an  hour  in  onr  lowly  church,  all 
alone,  save  the  presence  of  the  Saviour  she  loved  so 
much,  and  the  blessed  Angels  who  continually  minis- 
tor  unto  Him  in  His  holy  sanctuary.  And  the  ediii- 
cation  with  which  her  presence  inspired  our  young 
people,  especially  in  her  reception  of  the  sacraments, 
will,  I  trust,  never  be  forgotten.  So  full  of  faith,  of 
recollection,  was  my  poor  child.  I  know  her  fervent 
prayers  will  be  offered  to  our  Divine  Lord  and  His 
Blessed  Mother,  for  your  good  intentions  in  writing 
those  pious  reflections  upon  her  life,  for  I  am  certain 
it  will  be  a  source  of  mnch  good  for  our  young  peo- 
ple. Not  that  poor  Debbie  dreamed  that  her  virtues 
should  thus  be  recorded.  No  !  for  her  it  is  sufficient 
that  they  are  recorded  by  her  loved  Saviour  Himself 
in  the  Book  of  Eternal  Life.  Besides  her  love  to  the 
Jilessed  Sacrament  her  next  pre-eminent  virtue  was 
charity  towards  others.  T  have  never  known  her  guil- 
ty, even  once^  of  injuring  in  the  least  the  character  of 
,  lOther.  Do  not  think  I  exaggerate.  Who  should 
know  those  sisters  if  I  did  not,  who  was  their  direct- 
or and  correspondent  ever  since  their  baptism.  May 
God  bless  your  work,  and  may  it  be  the  fruitful  means 
of  leading  many  another  pure  soul  to  Heaven !'' 

When  Debbie's  dear  friend  "  Carrie"  entrusted  me 
with  the  letters  from  which  T  have  given  copious  ex- 
tracts, she  wrote  one  to  me,  from  which  I  quote  the 
following  passages : 

"I  am  delighted  that  you  intend  to  publish  a  sec- 
ond edition  of  the  "  Young  Converts,"  as  the  book 
is  in  great  demand,  and  it  is  impossible  to  procure  a 
copy.  I  very  mucli  regret  that,  at  Debbie's  earnest 
rc(|uest,  T  destroyed  many  of  her  most  beautiful  let- 
ters. It  would  seem  that  her  ])en  was  guided  by  an 
Aijgel-hand.  I  send  you  those  1  preserved,  and  iieed 
not  tell  you  how  highly  I  prize  the  precious  relics. 
Some  of  them  are  worn  and  soiled,  i)ut  the  sentiments 
tra(K'il  by  Debbie's  hand  ar(>  legible,  and  thereforo 
more  than  precious,  1  ran  never  he  snfliciently  grate- 
ful to  our  Heavenly  Father  for  tlie  blessing  He  con- 
ferred in  givin'^  me  Debbie  as  an  intimate  friend.— 


«,>' 


I' 


!  i 


I'" 

*< 
T 

V'    » 

*!'  ■ 

j^-- 

'1' 

'i  ■ 

!'■* 

.|m 

\k^> 

■:■<  ■ 

lip 

180 


THE   YOUNG   CONVEliTS. 


Wg  stood  together  by  her  death-bed,  dear  Mrs.  S--, 
and  was  there  ever  a  scene  more  beautiful  ?  I  re- 
garded it  only  as  the  transfer  of  an  angel  to  her 
heavenly  home !"     .... 

Debbie's  beloved  "  Tante,"  St.  A ,  also  writes 

to  me,  *'  I  forget  if  I  told  you  what  our  sweet  Debbie 
said  the  day  she  gave  mo  a  Souvenir.  '  My  own 
Tante  St.  A ,  you  have  the  first  choice  of  every- 
thing I  have  ;  you  have  been  my  best  friend.  Yes, 
indeed,  so  if  there  is  anything  that  belongs  to  me 
which  can  please  you,  be  sure  you  shall  have  it !'  I 
answered  I  did  not  care  for  any  thing  in  })artic- 
ular,  but  I  would  cherish  any  thing  she  liked  the 
most.  She  smiled  and  said,  '  Ma  Tante,  you  should 
know  that  I  am  not  attached  to  anything  on  eartli  ; 
but  Tvdiat  I  value  most  is  my  *  Following  of  Christ,' 
for  that  dear  little  book  has  been  a  source  of  great 
consolation  to  me  in  my  little  trials.  I  know  you 
would  like  to  have  a  cross  that  belonged  to  your 
child;  well,  the  one  1  value  most  is  this,'  giving  me 
the  rross  you  saw  ;  '  now  ma  Tante,  if  these  things 
please  you,  you  must  take  them,  and  any  thing  else 
you  would  like  to  have.'  I  told  her  I  was  satisfied 
with  these  souvenirs.  I  relate  this,  that  you  may 
know  how  far  she  carried  her  detachment  of  all 
earthly  affections ;  this  vii-tue  is  admirable  in  one  so 
young. 

"  The  dear  child  !  I  have  the  picture  of  her  virtues 
constantly  before  ray  mind.  You  know  she  never  had 
a  secret  from  me  :  her  heart  was  opened  to  me  as  a 
book,  in  which  I  could  read  all  her  life  and  character. 
I  can  truly  say  she  was  the  most  perfect  young  girl  I 
ever  knew  ;  and  all  her  teachers  here  are  of  the  same 
opinion.  Therefore,  you  need  not  fear  to  say  too 
much  in  praise  of  my  sweet  child." 

My  task  is  almost  done  !  I  sincerely  wish  it  bet- 
ter done  !     T  have  lingered  lovinoflv  over  it — 

"With  only  such  degree  of  sadness  left, 
As  might  support  longings  of  pure  desire ; 
And  strengthen  love  rejoicing  secretly 
In  the  sublimp  attrjintions  of  the  grave." 


THE   YOUNG  CONVERTS. 


181 


[rs.  S— , 

?       I    VG- 

[  to  her 

0  writes 
.  Debbie 
^ly  own 
f  every- 
1.  Yes, 
■5  to  mc 
sit!'     I 

partic- 
ked  the 
L  sliould 

1  eartli  ; 
Christ,' 
)f  great 
low  you 
to  your 
ving  me 
3  tlnngs 
ing  else 
satisfied 
ou  may 

of  ail 
I  one  so 

■  virtues 
iver  had 
me  as  a 
aracter. 
g  girl  I 
he  same 
sav  tuo 


I  have  felt,  while  dwelling  upon  the  singular  histo- 
ry of  these  our  precious  sisters  in  tlie  pSth,  that  it 
was  indeed  "  good  for  me"  to  be  so  occupied  !  I  have 
realized  the  truth  uttered  by  the  wisest  of  men,  that 
it  is  "  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning,  than  to 
go  to  the  house  of  feasting."     I  trust  I  shall  carry 
with  me  through  the  grave,  and  into  Eternitv,  the 
treasures  I  have  gathered  in  the  prosecution  of  this 
work.     May  the  perusal  of  these  simple  Memoirs  pro- 
duce a  corresponding  effect  upon  the-  minds  of  my 
yonng   friends.      Should  any  one  among  them,  when 
sinking   under   opposition   and   contempt,   or   when 
tempted  by  ridicule  tO  be  ashamed  of  their  religion, 
and  its  practices,  be   encouraged  by  the  examples' 
here  recorded,  to  return  to  their  first  allegiance,  and 
be  awakened  to  renewed  Zealand  firmness  in  the' con- 
fession of  the  holy  Catholic  faith  in  the  midst  of  its 
enemies,  I  should  feel  my  humble  efforts  amply  re- 
warded.    It  has  inleed  been  a  labor  of  love,  as  well 
as  of  blessed  obedience,  for  me,  and  watered  with 
abundant  tears  !     Truly  happy  shall  I  be,  if  I  have 
been  enabled  so  to  perform  the  behest  of  our  beloved 
and  respected  Bishop,  as  to  claim  the  promise,  that 
"  they  who  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy;"  and,  "re- 
turning joyfully,  bring  my  sheaves  with  me"  t'o  the 
Altars  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  in  the  abundant  fruits 
produced  by  it  among  our  young  people,  to  the  honor 
and  glory  of  His  Holy  Name  ! 


it  bet- 


